The Night Will Go As Follows
by theDarkIsRising
Summary: In the wake of Voldemort's defeat, the Ministry is enacting new laws, most notably the Werewolf Reform Act. The conditions are staggering. Can Remus bring himself to ruin another life to help save his own? Who would willingly want to be a werewolf's wife?
1. Sorry to Leave, But I Had to Go

DarkIsRising

The Night Will Go As Follows

1. SORRY TO LEAVE, BUT I HAD TO GO

The wind whipped her cloak into a deranged frenzy about her chilled body. Rain came down in a slanted sheet, constantly stinging her face and causing her to squint in response. Her quest was so all consuming that she never stopped her stride to cast a charm to keep out the elements. Lightning surged across the sky, causing quick shadows to be cast, followed by a loud clap of thunder. No, she was glad for the misery because it befitted the day. To bloody dismal perfection.

Another round of lightning lit up the landscape and her eyes finally caught sight of what she was looking for. Quickening her pace, she strode forward as swiftly as she could, barring the chaos around her. Leaves swirled in spontaneous whirlwinds, a small reminder that the storm could bring much worse.

One word from Molly had sent her out into the weather and Apparating in a flurry. _Anniversary._ It was the anniversary, two years since the Battle of Hogwarts. How could she have forgotten? How could she have let him slip out today? She cursed herself for getting too bogged down in her work, for letting herself slip into an unawareness.

Normally a very calm, collected individual, his reasoning seemed to leave him when the calendar rested on today –a day of horrible memories. _Stupid, stupid, stupid_, she chided. _You know how he gets. He is liable to stand out here until the lightning strikes him and he burns to a crisp._

She called his name. He paid no heed to it, though the wind seemed to sweep her voice away as soon as she opened her mouth. Again she shouted out his name. Nothing. Advancing on him, she grabbed a hold of his forearm, bringing his attention away from the spot he was looking at to her face.

"Remus," she said once more, trying to be heard above the din. Her hair briefly obscured her face; it was now a mass of wild curls, weighed down with water.

At first, he did not seem to register the pale hand that still clung to his sopping trench coat or the anxious face attached, but soon his eyes snapped from their reverie and darted about in confusion as if suddenly lost. Finally his tired gray eyes locked on her equally weary, dark brown ones, a startled look upon his face.

"Gods, Hermione, what are you doing out here?"

Incredibility quickly scrawled itself across her face as her eyebrows rose. "What am I doing out here?" she echoed back. "I'm making sure you haven't drowned yet. It's coming a flood, Remus! You're soaked." Her appearance was a testament to that statement as she flung a wad of drenched hair over her shoulder from its position on her saturated shirt.

At that, he picked at his attire, looking down, letting raindrops drip from his nose, eyelashes and chin. His gaze was then reclaimed by what he had been staring at earlier. "I had hardly noticed. I've been here a bit," he replied distantly.

Reflexively, she found herself looking at it, too. The smooth gray granite, engraved with rigid serif letters, stuck up sharply from the rain beaten grass. _Nymphadora Tonks 1973-1998 Beloved Daughter, Sister and Friend. _Her heart wrenched as it had the first time she stood over this grave, watching the dirt being poured in. His silent agony permeated and she felt his attention waning from the present and drifting to the past. She would not leave him here.

Taking his chin in her fingers, she turned his face back to hers. "We need to go, Remus, or else you are going to catch pneumonia." He did not respond and she knew it was not due to the wind for it had died down considerably. Her tone softened, "I know what you are going through and what you are thinking. You have a right to mourn, we all have lost, but it's not over. We need you."

Lightly, she took his hand in hers and began to slowly pull him away. She halted as he said in a croak, "I can't. Not-not today."

Through the thinning sheets of rain, she studied his face. He seemed so torn; neither did he let go of her hand nor did he move from his spot. "Okay," she conceded, turning back around. "But I'm staying with you."

Remus made as if to argue, but one look at the setline of her mouth told him it would be quite pointless. So they stood there several moments longer; their hands no longer clasped, but Hermione had linked arms with him. As the rain moved out, a chill set in. A late October gust cut their coats. Lost in thought as she gazed blankly out into the cemetery, she almost did not hear his faint words, not expecting much from the constant silence.

"You're cold."

Indeed, Hermione had started to involuntarily shake as the temperature dropped, but the movement had been lost on her. By clamping her teeth, she kept them from chattering. She shrugged in response; he was not going to find a reason to send her back and stay out here by himself for who knew how long. No one had ever let her, and in hindsight, she was glad. Clinging and mourning over Ron's grave would have only driven her to madness. She would not see anyone fall into what she nearly had. Remus had helped drag her back to sanity after Ron's funeral. Being that close to the edge was frightening enough without actually tipping over.

In usual scholarly response, Hermione conjured a blue flame in one outstretched hand and held it close to her, grinning slightly through the flickering tendrils. She easily separated the fire into both hands and offered one over to him. He cupped his palm over hers and let it lay there, extinguishing the blaze. For a moment, he left it there before moving it to her shoulder and steering her around. Puzzled by his sudden turnaround, she fisted the other fire into nothingness. The firm hand on her back led her resolutely out of the cemetery.

"Did Molly send you?" he asked at last.

"No," replied Hermione.

Rephrasing, he said, "Did Molly tell you?"

"She simply reminded me and well, she knew how I'd respond, so -"

"So you were sent," he sighed.

Hermione gave him a scathing look and her nostrils flared in kind. "No, I was not! I came out in this gale to keep you from dying of any number of sources on my own accord without prompting. No one sent me to retrieve you. I care about your wellbeing and just could not let you do this to yourself, especially alone, on today of all days." His face was oh so carefully avoiding hers as she peered up at him and finished softly, "You did not leave me, and I'll be damned if I let you keep trying to make it through this by yourself."

His expression was so infuriatingly hard to read that initially Hermione feared he might become angry with her being so forward about his situation and her determination to help him. But it soon turned to resignation and a faint sad smile lifted the corners of his mouth. As usual he responded to her in a very calm and warm way, "I'm getting you inside. It's freezing and you're soaked to the bone. Molly will have a fit when she sees us both."

"But-but-" sputtered Hermione. It was her idea that they be leaving. As soon as they had crossed the cemetery's threshold, Remus grasped her upper arm and began to spin out of sight. Conceding her brief authority, she let him be the one in control and watched despondently as he carefully tucked his emotions down inside of him, plastering a composed expression on as they reappeared at The Burrow. He cleared his throat and gently released his grip on her. Neither had a chance to move before being hit by a powerful drying charm from Mrs. Weasley. Each of their hair blew around their now pink faces, leaving a tangled mess for them to sort out with their fingers. At least they were in dry clothes again.

"Thank goodness you are both back. I asked the barometer and it said these storms will be going on all through the night. Neither of you have caught anything, have you?" She felt their foreheads which were deceptively warm from the over excessive drying and gave them a good look over before declaring them with a clean bill of health. "Everything all right?" she whispered to Hermione as Remus trudged into the kitchen and sank down into a chair.

"As well as can be expected."

Molly made a sympathetic noise and gently patted Hermione on the back as they moved into the kitchen. Remus was already nursing a very black cup of coffee and he leaned heavily over it. Hermione could detect a faint whiff of something else; she pinned it as Firewhiskey. Scrunching her noise, she could only guess what kind of horrible tasting concoction that would make. She pulled out the chair next to him and flopped down. He made as if to move, but stayed in his seat. A few more people filtered in; rather a few of the survivors did, as was often the case on the anniversary of the first battle. Most of them avoided any pomp that the Ministry might put on to commemorate the event. Mrs. Weasley was bustling around offering food to anyone who dared linger in the kitchen. Hermione finally gave her the satisfaction of making something as she requested only toast. The older witch beamed at the prospect. Without nearly half her clan to feed, Hermione would indulge her if only to see her a bit happier.

The people milling about muttered softly around them and Hermione pulled her golden brown toast closer. Several clapped Remus on the shoulder, who determinedly stared into his cup and offered only the words necessary for a response, no more. Some of them went up stairs to where Harry was, no doubt with Ginny, and Hermione was surprised that Bill had not shown up yet. The Wireless hummed innocently in the background, a tune Hermione did not know, but was unconsciously tapping her feet to.

Abruptly, the music stopped and a very authoritative voice replaced it. "Special breaking news from the Ministry of Magic. After a hasty drafting session, the Wizarding Council has once more approved some progressive lawmaking in the wake of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's failed takeover." Those left within hearing distance froze and stared at the radio; a few groaned. The Ministry could be unpredictable with its laws these days, especially since Kinsley Shackelbolt was no longer the Minister of Magic. "This legislation was just rushed through mere minutes ago and is currently titled as Werewolf Reform Bill R938." Now all the eyes swiveled to Remus who stared blankly ahead, squeezing his own eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose as the announcer continued. "Henceforth all werewolves must be in an educational program, employed or actively seeking employment and register such with the Ministry. This has been coupled with a revolutionary work place anti-discrimination clause, stipulating that companies must be equal opportunity employers."

Now the taunt faces softened with grins as they congratulated Remus on his new prospects. He could get and hold down a job, albeit under Ministry supervision. "You could return to Hogwarts, Remus. Isn't that wonderful?" said Hermione, a smile directed at him.

"Just because I can get a job, doesn't make the prejudice any less real. Now they'll just hire me because Ministry is forcing them or they'll be written up. I'd rather not have that hanging over my head everyday," he replied solemnly, causing the happy expression to be wiped cleaning from her face and everyone else's.

"Remus, I didn't mean – I just thought – "

He stood up to leave. "I know, Hermione." She pushed back her chair and got up also.

The radio person cleared his throat, making Remus halt in his tracks. "The second part of the bill states that any werewolf of age must be married or actively seeking a committed, life-long relationship with another, preferably of a normal wizarding sort. A timetable will be determined for how long the werewolves will be allowed to find a husband or wife before coming under a Ministry inquisition, coupled with possible detainment and a snapping of their wand if further compliance is not given. The Ministry hopes these innovative, new laws will foster more human-like behavior from the werewolves and deter future Dark involvement. Matilda Hays of the Wizarding Council said…"

No one was listening any more. It appeared Remus had stopped breathing and his posture was so rigid it looked as if one move would break him. Everyone looked on horrified and mute, unable to say anything. They were so shocked and also scared of how Remus might react. Hermione's hand had flown to her mouth at the news; astonishment on her face. Hesitantly, she reached out for him since he was still close to her. Ever so lightly, it came to rest on his elbow, hoping to offer him sort of comfort. Breaking the unbearable silence that was punctuated by annoying out of place sounds from the Wireless, she breathed out, "Oh, Remus, how could they? What made them think they had any right –" She was cut short as tears sprang to her eyes and she found it difficult to continue.

His own eyes stayed dry as his cultivated front flicked with emotions he was trying very hard to control. He exhaled a breath he had been holding in and turned so she could now see his profile. Lowering his head, he regarded her out of the corner of his eye and sighed softly once more before silently moving out from under her hand. The others moved back without saying a word, giving him his space as he exited the room. A small pop was heard from the adjoining hallway that indicated his departure.

Brandishing her wand, Hermione flourished it so violently at the radio that not only did it cease its playing, but it began to emit smoke from its speakers. The quiet muttering, seething with undercurrents of outrage and astonishment, paused at the commotion she had made with a few fanning the smoke out the nearest window. It was her turn to stalk out, tears prickling to be unleashed once more. The unfairness of it all made her hot all over and she could not even explain herself properly to Harry and Ginny as she met them in the hallway.

She hastened up the stairs, having a faint hope that maybe Remus had simply Apparated to the second floor, but that was dashed as she found him nowhere. That left the conclusion that he had gone back to his flat, the one he had rented after selling the house he had shared with Tonks. Hermione wrung her hands and dearly hoped he wouldn't do anything rash. Turning down the hall, she grabbed up a piece of spare parchment and stabbed a quill into an inkpot, writing furiously, not caring about the ink blots that dotted the page. She glanced over her work before whistling down the Weasley's owl and tying the sheaf onto its leg.

"To the Ministry of Magic, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Werewolf Registry. You peck them good and hard until they answer my questions," she said fiercely to the docile-looking owl who swept clumsily out a half-opened window.

Heaving a sigh, she collapsed into an armchair located in the upstairs den. Hermione leaned her head on her hand and stared unseeingly at the opposite wall. Plunging deep into thought, her mind processed each and every scenario this problem presented. Not many solutions ended well. Two were immediately scrapped; Remus leaving the wizarding community and Remus killing himself. She did not really think he would do the second one, but one must always be prepared. The first was quite as terrifying. They still needed him, Death Eaters continued to be at large and Remus was a huge asset. Not only that, but it would crush him and everyone else if he was forced to leave the wizarding community. Or worse if they started throwing werewolves into Azkaban. He had already been through so much; he did not deserve this. Who knew how many more letdowns and abandonments he could take?

He had not left Hermione in her time of need and she had already promised she would not leave Remus in his. She felt the need to cry once more. It was so _unfair_. To punish all for the fault of a few. Remus was not like anything those horrible Ministry people implied. He was much more human than many that worked there and never had a Dark tendency in all his being. Preposterous! The man had taught _Defense Against the Dark Arts_ for crying out loud! Such horrible prejudice against half-breeds, she wildly thought, Umbridge must have been meddling, but remembered that she was banned from any more official government work.

Remus was calm, friendly, warm and caring. He was the one who retrieved her from Ron's grave, and although she had beat at him and cried furiously, he had held her silently until she had calmed down. At her lowest point, he had comforted her and was the only one who could talk any sense to her. She had watched him as he found Tonks after the battle, barely alive, her hair black with blood. He cradled her head in his lap and pleaded with her still form.

Oh Gods, then Tonks died and they had all feared for him, watching his mechanical movements and maddeningly dry eyes. How much more death could he take?

Finally, it seemed he was alone. Childhood friends. Gone. Girlfriend. Murdered. His own life. Horribly afflicted.

Hermione slammed a shaking fist down on the chair's arm before hastily wiping a stray tear. Her body filled with such emotion. She could not remember being able to feel so much; war could make a person dangerously numb. She felt completely wiped out and tired by it.

He was not by himself. Not by a long shot. Never.

As her eyelids began to droop, she listened anxiously for a creak of a floorboard to indicate he had come back. However, she only heard Molly and Bill pass before the house returned to silence. Then she fell away into the darkness of sleep. She awoke horribly cramped in the armchair the next morning, feeling stiff in all the wrong places. Walking uncomfortably from the room and rubbing her back, she inquired as to whether Remus had returned any that night.

No, Remus had not shown up that night.

Hermione waited restlessly for him to come back to The Burrow. It worried her immensely not to see him.

But he did not come back.


	2. You'll Forget Me Again

DarkIsRising

The Night Will Go As Follows

2. YOU'LL FORGET ME AGAIN

She shifted from one foot to the other in the dim, gray hall that looked as though it had seen much better days. The sounds of someone's television being turned up entirely too loud was the only noise apart from her breathing. Nervously, she regarded the equally somber-colored door and the dingy '47' that hung haphazardly on it. This place was far cry from the modest cottage he had shared with Tonks. She exhaled a breath she had not known she was holding in as she placed her hand upon the doorknob. No one had seen hide or hair of Remus Lupin since he had Disapparated from the Burrow two days ago. In that span of time, Hermione had decided if he would not come out then she would just have to go in after him. The Ministry thus far had not answered any of her queries directly; rather what she heard from reporters sounded far more ominous. She doubted the Ministry would be swayed on this issue. Furthermore, Remus' stubborn absence was not going to solve any of his problems.

_And you can?_ the snide voice in her head said, the one that always had her second guessing her essays at Hogwarts. _Do you really think he will do it?_

Outwardly, she rolled her eyes and inwardly hushed her cynical side. He would have to see reason or else be thrown out on the street as a Muggle, wand snapped – or even worse. Whispers of Azkaban had begun to circulate as a punishment. At the moment, Remus seemed to be taking his chances and simply waiting for the Ministry to break down his door. It should be easy enough; her plan was foolproof. All she had to do was go in and explain to him how it was going to work out just fine. She could try to scare him into it, but she hoped he saw reason. He had to hear her out. She would not let him reduce himself to defeat so quickly. He couldn't leave. He just couldn't.

Gathering her courage once more, she took hold of the knob more firmly and turned it. Unsurprisingly, it was locked; nobody had been able to enter previously. Hermione raised her hand and gave a tentative knock, then a few more, louder, for good measure. No answer, yet again no shock. He had not answered the door for any of the other Order members. She even called his name a few times through the door, but without any response. Glancing up and down the hall to be sure no Muggles were watching, Hermione pulled out her wand and decided on a slightly drastic measure. Breaking in. With a mix of betrayal and good intentions, she undid the numerous non-magical locks and broke through several charms. Wincing at her devious action, she hesitantly swung the door inward and softly crossed the threshold.

The scene before her was of a cramped flat in a state of disarray. Many objects had apparently been thrown and shattered, lying broken at various edges of the room. The small kitchen had an unclean air about it as did the rest of the house as she stepped through toward the living room. That was where she found him slumped over in an armchair pulled close to a dead fire, not a single ember glowing. Numerous glittering glass bottles littered the area about his feet; all were various forms of wizard and Muggle alcohol. His hand was flung over the side and rested on a half-finished container of whiskey which seemed to her his preferred poison.

She hastened over to him, taking in his rumpled clothes, the very ones she had last seen him in. He was breathing evenly in sleep and she hoped he had not drunk himself into too deep of a stupor or by the looks of it a coma, as he did not stir once at her footsteps. The bitter smell of alcohol assaulted her nose as she bent down beside him. His hair was unkempt and his stubble gave him an even more scruffy appearance. Taking it all in, her face softened and she quietly chided, "Oh, Remus." She removed his hand from the bottle's neck and held on to it for a moment, savoring the warmth and the feel of his hand. Hermione then placed his left hand on his lap next to his right as a new problem stared her in the face. Getting him conscious.

Standing once more, she banished the various objects and trash in the room with a flick of her wand. Hermione glanced between the wand and Remus. To wake him magically or not? From previous experience, she knew reviving someone drunk did not only make them conscious but rather irritable (or at least in Harry's case it did.) Time was of the essence so she placed her wand on his chest and said, "_Ennervate_."

Groggily, Remus opened his eyes, rubbing his head which Hermione suspected must be splitting with a headache. He slowly straightened out of his hunched position. At first she wondered if he would ever take notice of her, but soon he stiffened and he turned to face her. He blinked a few times before closing his eyes in obvious pain and wearily placed a hand over his face. "Hermione," he muttered hoarsely. "What –?"

"Never you mind," she cut in briskly. "Now can you stand?" Hermione placed a firm grip on his arm and helped to pull him to his feet where he swayed. "I think it would be much easier to talk if you weren't in such a state." She began to lead his staggering figure off to another room.

"Talk?" he echoed woozily.

Hermione was having trouble keeping him up since he was several inches taller than her and heavier, though thankfully his footing was becoming steadier. "Yes," she flung open the door, "but first a shower and something for your hangover."

She flicked the bathroom light on and squinted in the watery glow. Leaving him to lean up against the sink, she started the shower, turning the knob all the way to the right. Remus was still hunched against the off-white countertop as she removed his cloak then his shoes. At first he was quite acquiescing until she unbuttoned his shirt and started to yank off his trousers. That's when the protests started but Remus was in no state to resist. Frankly escape was futile since she had a wand, so finally he was left standing in only his undershirt and boxers. If he had any sense left, he would have been properly embarrassed.

Quietly, Hermione said, "Forgive me for what I'm about to do." Then she pushed him under the spray of water.

Remus gave a loud yelp and vaulted back, trying to escape. He sputtered as the ice-cold jet pounded down on him and soaked his meager clothing. Hermione took the opportunity of surprise to thoroughly _Scourify _him. Now wide-eyed, he pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and was peering at her as if he was just truly seeing her. His gaze traveled down his apparel and back up to her. "Hermione?"

"Oh good, you're fully awake!"

He shivered and backed out from under the showerhead. "Was the freezing water absolutely necessary?" Remus seemed to be back to his more normal self as he crossed his arm and gave her an intense stare.

"Uh oh – yes – well. Not anymore." She involuntarily flushed and turned the tap off. "It's always worked on Harry and," she paused as if fighting to say the word, "Ron."

"Of course," he answered quietly. Remus made his way out of the shower and dripped steadily upon the yellowing tiles. "Towels are in the lower cabinet directly behind you and a Pepper-Up Potion will be behind the mirror."

Spinning about, Hermione handed a maroon towel to him and quickly averted her eyes as he started to dry himself off. She did not blame him for not going with the drying charm again. The hinged mirror swung forward with a _creak_. A fiery red bottle was perched on the top shelf. Carefully, she took it down, unscrewing the cap and watching as he took a large gulp of it. Steam issued forth from his ears and his face burned bright red momentarily. He reached around her to put it back and close the door securely.

"Any better?" ventured Hermione.

Remus was twisting the towel absentmindedly in knots. "Somewhat – the pounding is gone." As though it burned, he tossed the towel down and moved past Hermione into a short hallway. "Now if you'll excuse me. I'd rather like to put some dry clothes on."

Again she found herself blushing; she could feel the heat blaze up her face. This entire situation was going from bad to worse in a flash. Anxiously, she listened as she heard him shuffle about in drawers in the next room and waited for him to emerge. Flitting out into the main room once more, she nearly collided with him, fully dressed in a pair of Muggle jeans and a plain green t-shirt. He steadied her.

"We need to talk," she said simply.

Relinquishing his grip on her shoulders, he sighed and looked away from her before answering, "I rather think that would pointless." He turned on his heels and stalked out of the room back toward the living room he had just left earlier.

"Pointless? But your life is on the line."

Remus stopped and fixed her with one of his stares again. Softly, he said, "Oh, they won't kill me; at least, I highly doubt they will."

"Perhaps not," she shot back. "They're still going to take your life away when they force you to live as a Muggle with no magic or magical contact."

"I'll manage; I have for years. How else would I have been able to hold down any sort of stable income? They do not discriminate against werewolves so much out there. Tend to believe that we don't exist." He smiled humorlessly at his own little joke.

In a very McGonagall fashion, Hermione pursed her lips. "What about us? All of us who care about you and need you? The work yet to be done?"

"You mean you won't come see me as a Muggle." Before she could begin a protest, he finished, "As for the Voldemort's straggling lot of supporters, you are all very capable of rounding them up without me. It's not as if I've been much help recently. When was the last time I went on a mission?"

Hermione struggled to remember. "It was just last – "

"Exactly," said Remus, cutting through her babble.

"That is completely beside the point!" She moved toward him, resisting the urge to shake her finger at him. "Your wand, those years at Hogwarts," her voice dropped lower, "the war. You can just walk away from magic, all you've ever known? From us?" Her voice was dangerously near the breaking point.

"Yes," he stated and she felt as though her heart was starting to break into smaller and smaller pieces. "I would not burden you any longer. That's all I've really done – James and Sirius, Dumbledore," his voice became strained, "Nymphadora, but no more. I'll go and leave you all in peace." He sank despairingly down onto a ragged sofa cushion.

She planted herself in front of him and looked down on his hanging head. "Burden? Burden? How dare you." Her words were fast becoming shrill. "Everything we've ever done for you, Remus, has been because we care for you, because we love you and you're just going to walk away?"

"Yes," was his tired reply.

"How? When there's a solution, perfectly easy - "

Suddenly, he jumped up and nearly bowled her backwards. He looked livid at such a suggestion and its intensity caused Hermione to shrink back momentarily. He countered harshly, "There is no solution."

Plucking up her courage, she stood straight up, looking him square in the face. Hermione could not stop the words from coming out as a shout, "Yes! Yes there is. You just won't accept it. You are too stubborn to realize it."

Her outburst had caught him by surprise and he was merely able to look at her in a vague shocked expression. Of course, the wrath of Hermione Granger had never been fully turned on him before. Seizing his momentary lapse into silence, she continued, "It's so simple, Remus. All you have to do is get married."

Mutely, he was shaking his head in a 'no' fashion. She erased the space between them; the old hardwood creaking beneath her feet. "Marry me, Remus." Tentatively, she reached out and took his hand in hers, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Hermione gave him a small smile as his face found hers; his expression was torn.

"I can't. I can't, Hermione." He had yet to relinquish her hand. "I won't do that to you. I won't force such a horrible lifestyle on you." His eyes seemed to pleading with her to understand what he was saying.

"Force?" She dropped his hand in order to wave hers in an exasperated motion. "You aren't forcing me to do anything. I rather think I was the one who chose to come here and ask you to marry me. I came here freely." Hermione kept pointing about for emphasis before folding her arms as if daring him to contradict her.

"Insanity. Utter insanity," he mumbled. Remus grabbed her shoulders once more and gave her a light shake as if to wake her up. "You have no idea what you are getting into. Throwing away your reputation – indeed your very life – being a werewolf's wife. A curse I wouldn't wish on anyone, especially as young and promising as you. I won't allow you to sacrifice yourself for me."

Hermione scowled up at him. "Oh shove it, Remus. All of that is absolutely no consequence to an already scorned Muggleborn. Doesn't even compare with the alternative of getting your wand snapped and lifetime banishment! There are even rumors they may send you to Azkaban." She let that sink in, but he did not back down. "I'm more than aware of your condition and what it brings, yet I am still here asking." She could no longer hold her glare and a frustrated air replaced it. She could feel the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes.

Once more he shook his head. "Hermione, I just can't slander you in that way. You are the brightest witch I know. I'll not allow you to damn your existence to save mine." She opened her mouth to retort, but he reaffirmed forcefully, "I will not!"

Tears began to slide down her face in earnest which effectively dried him up. Hastily, she attempted to wipe them away. "But I don't want you to go, Remus." He was tactfully avoiding her gaze as his head hung dejectedly toward the floor as if unable to face her emotions. "And-and if it's the fact you just couldn't bring yourself to marry someone like me then just do it to stay. The marriage would just be in the formalities. You could go out and be with who ever you wanted until you found someone else."

Slick trails wound down her cheeks and she struggled to compose herself. The thought of him going out with another while leaving her, his wife, at home twisted her stomach, but if he stayed, if only he would not leave, she would bear it. Seeming to think the same thought, Remus quickly interjected, "No, if I were going to do this – this marriage, it will be proper. I will not be slinking about betraying you – someone – like that. I would not take such vows lightly."

She perceived the words as a challenge because she shot back, "Neither would I."

Guilt scrawled across his features, Remus produced a handkerchief out of the air and lightly dabbed at the last wayward tears that slipped out and down her face. Before he knew what had happened, she had enveloped him in a fierce hug and her petite body shook with renewed sobs. "How long?" her brittle voice sounded from around his chest.

"Two weeks," he answered gravely, patting her back.

"Only two weeks," she repeated faintly. "You will consider it then?"

"I will do no such thing."

She peeled herself off him, leaving a damp spot where her tears had stained his shirt a darker green. Something flashed in her eyes and her mouth set into a line once more. "And do they sell Wolfsbane in Muggle grocery stores? Because the last I checked they don't. You won't be able to find the ingredients to make it in any market; Muggles don't put much stock in pixie wings or salamander hearts. How will you get it? Me?" She raised her eyebrows. "I rather thought you were just going to leave us all behind."

Reaching inside her pocket, she pulled forth three venomous lime bottles. Since Snape's death, she had been the Order's potion maker and had steadily supplied Remus with his vital concoction. She floated them over to the kitchen counter. The full moon was a week away and getting him the bottles was going to be her backup plan should he refuse to let her in. Hermione had opted to break in anyway. "You won't have any potion or friends that are an Animagus, Remus. Only some man-made structure between you and the Muggles. Then they'll throw you in Azkaban for sure if get out."

Clearly, he had not thought of that yet, not that he had much opportunity being thoroughly sloshed the past two days. "Surely, the Ministry has taken this into consideration."

"No, no they haven't! They never think before passing these horrible discriminating laws. They never take into consideration the fact that they are dealing with people, with lives. The Ministry is only looking out for its best interests and I'm trying to look out for yours. Remus, please, don't leave. Not just because of the Wolfsbane – I swear I'd get it to you–, no one wants to see you go. I lo–" But Hermione stopped suddenly as if someone had just cut her vocal cords, looking stricken. Her hands flew to her mouth. The shock sent her startling backwards.

Again she had resumed crying and this time she waved him off, backing toward the door. He reached out for her, but she was moving away too fast. He could barely hear her choke out, "Please just consider."

She wrenched open the door and could barely see him do the same as the tears welled up again in her brown eyes. Insane, he was right; she was insane. What she had almost said. Her head ached and she did not know what was going on anymore. Everything was so confusing. Not even caring about the Muggles, she Disapparated with a smart pop and promptly collapsed onto the floor of her flat.


	3. Don't Need a New Love or a New Life

DarkIsRising

Oh, hey. It's been awhile.

The Night Will Go As Follows

3. DON'T NEED A NEW LOVE OR A NEW LIFE

Five members of the Order proposed to Remus in the following week and a half. He sought out none of them. Frankly, he tried to avoid every available witch he knew lest they follow Hermione's example and ask for his hand. The three days of the full moon had been easy enough as he holed up in the safe room that he had conjured beneath his flat. He could still hear tapping on his front door. He thought he could hear Hermione's voice all the way through the floorboards. She sounded sad. His bones ached from the transformations and his head ached from his incessant thoughts. _I will not do this to anyone else. I will not be selfish. I will not be selfish like I was with Dora. No matter who they are. I will say 'no.' _He enjoyed the darkness of his cubby hole as long as he could.

Margie Pollock proposed two days before the full moon. He had been in a foul mood, not only because his wolfish nature was bubbling to the surface, but also because of the anxious looks that followed him wherever he went. _Poor Remus_, their faces said. _Poor werewolf_. He hated their pity; he hated the circumstances; mostly, he hated himself. Margie cornered him as he left the Muggle grocers closest to his flat. Remus dared not return to the Burrow or any other magical place. He hadn't even seen her creep up behind him until he was prepared to Apparate out of an alley.

She cleared her throat to get his attention, and then looked around conspiratorially. "Remus, I know this must be hard for you," she whispered. "But I can help you. More than you know." Delicately, she touched his arm then winked at him. He awkwardly shifted his bags around trying to avoid her.

"Yes, well, it is for me to worry about. I have already made it quite clear that I will not be complying with the law. Very kind of you-"

"You must know how I feel about you. Remember when we went on that spying mission together. Out to Brighton. Do you ever think about that?"

Gods, did he ever remember. She sat by him the entire time. They watched a Death Eater's house, waiting to see if they were gathering forces in that part of the country. Margie breathed down his neck whenever he peered through their spy glass, feigning that she wanted to get a better look. She had pressed her breasts against his shoulder repeatedly. Dora had been alive and his fiancée.

Rage built within him. She backed away. He must have looked frightful because her mouth fell open and she gasped. The bags felt strangely light in his hands as he felt himself tense.

"The answer is 'no,' Margie. To all your questions. The answer will always be 'no.' Even if I was considering, it would not be you."

He shook her off, disgusted by her touch. Quickly, he Apparated before she could get in another word. Remus pressed his head to his cold front door. Someone had left him a note. Setting down his bags, he pulled the yellow piece of paper off the door and unfolded it.

_I left you a casserole and a pie on the counter. You must be hungry. I know you will be this time of the month. I promise this is the last time I break in. _

_-HJG_

He could see thick crossed out lines on the back and flipped it over. The first two sentences had been marked out heavily with blue ink. The final one, the only legible one: _I'm terribly sorry, Remus. For everything._

A snarling overtook his body. A wrathful anger filled him, leaving him lightheaded. His heartbeat filled his ears. She had no reason to be sorry. What had she ever done to feel such guilt? It was all him; it was always him and his damned affliction. He slammed his fist into the door. The action barely made a dent in his rage, but left quite a hole in between the door hinges. Shaking off the pain, he moved his groceries inside and shut the door behind him.

Two covered dishes sat innocuously next to his stove. He thought of how her hands carefully measured out the ingredients. How she wouldn't use magic whenever she was cooking. How a small furrow appeared between her eyebrows when she had to reread the instructions. Molly let her putter around the kitchen after the battle, after everyone had died. Hermione made cakes. She made muffins. She made tarts. She even made casseroles and pies. The first time she laughed after losing Ron was when she royally burnt a soufflé. She pulled it smoking from Molly's oven, took one look at it and giggled. Remus had looked up, startled by the noise. They locked eyes. Hers went wide when she saw that her atrocity had a witness. Then, she snorted into the oven mitt she held over her mouth. He felt his own lips quirk up. Deviously, she glanced between Remus and the soufflé, and then touched its burnt top with her wand. She howled with laughter when that set the soufflé on fire. They were both in tears by the time Molly came in to see about the smoke. The older witch took one look at the two of them, shook her head, and put out with the wave of her own wand.

He lifted the lids. She made beef and noodles with a chocolate pie for dessert – his favorites. Remus ate them in one sitting.

As the deadline approached, the other three witches asked to marry him. The moon was hard on him this month. After the last night, he showered and then looked himself over. His eyes appeared puffier than usual, and deeper, redder lines crisscrossed his face. Not even Wolfsbane could completely shut out his self-loathing this time. Keeping his human mind did not make any of his thoughts any more pleasant. His mind kept returning to a few nights ago when he sputtered awake to a cold shower and Hermione Granger. A knock came and shook him from his thoughts. Suzanne Bilby barely addressed him before Remus shut his flat door in her face. He considered such a short meeting a kindness to Suzanne after his run-in with Margie. The very next day another knock came. At first, for a moment, he thought it might be Hermione. Small feet shuffled just outside the door. But it didn't smell like her. There was no hint of vanilla or crisp parchment. He listened closer. There were two pairs of feet. After a length of time, a slip of paper slid underneath his door.

_Remus, we're here about the law. We want to help._

A moment passed. More words appeared.

_It's Hannah and Parvati. _

He crumbled up the paper and receded to his bedroom. The paper followed him; it floated by his head.

_We don't care who you pick, honest. Our feelings won't be hurt._

"_Reducto_," he said. The paper shredded into thousands of tiny pieces. After a while, he could no longer hear them outside. He knew one of them sighed heavily before Apparating.

He dreamt his kitchen was on fire that night. Black smoke billowed around him. And she was laughing. He kept trying to extinguish the flames he could not see and all Hermione would do was laugh. The only words she said came towards the end of the dream, as he slowly awoke. "Don't you want a taste?" she said. "I made it for you."

Sunday marked the end of his two weeks. He hadn't found a bride, and he hadn't tried to find one. He felt strangely detached, as if it were all happening to another person and not him. As if another person was going to walk into the Ministry and have their wand snapped. The small Wireless that sat on his patchwork coffee table stated that all non-compliant werewolves needed to report to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magic Creatures. Those that did not show up would be detained. Immediately. Letters had been arriving all morning. Four owls perched on the back of his sofa, awaiting his reply. Most of them asked him to reconsider his decision. Most of them asked him to stay. The last one was from the Ministry, a final warning concerning his fate:

_Dear Mr. Remus John Lupin,_

_It has come to the Ministry's attention that you have neither selected a satisfactory occupation or spouse, per the requirements of Werewolf Reform Bill R938. The Ministry passes such legislation for the protection and well-being of all wizardkind. We would like all werewolves to integrate into mainstream wizarding society effortlessly._

_Since you have yet to comply with this law, we would like to remind you that your deadline still stands at 4:00 PM today. Report to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures with your work papers and your future spouse. Should you fail to do, you will be marked as non-compliant and have your wand snapped._

_Hope your Sunday is going splendid._

_Sincerely,_

_Corinth Overby_

Remus stacked the letters neatly on his desk and left.

The Ministry was bustling for a Sunday. The elevators kept filling up and it took him nearly an hour to get to the correct floor. Once in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creature, they shifted him from line to line. The waiting room was packed. Apparently, the Ministry set out ultimatums for other "half-breeds" as well. A herd of centaurs blocked the main entrance as they exchanged heated words with a secretary. Further inside, vampires stood in line at a window marked _Blood Bank_. Remus soon saw his line. He pushed past the vampires, who snarled their noses at him and hid their mouths behind their dark cloaks. The werewolves stood further back, cordoned off by ropes.

The _Werewolf Marriage and Occupation Registry _sign floated above the longest line; it looped back on itself. Werewolves and their future husbands and brides waited to be called forward by one of the Ministry magistrates. It was easy to tell which ones were the werewolves. Their faces looked grayer and hollower. The transformations take their toll. They also looked guiltier. Only about a quarter of them looked somewhat happy to be there. A few had linked arms or were holding hands. These couples looked genuinely in love. One young werewolf with a scabbed over cut on his neck and cheek doted on his pregnant girlfriend next to him. However, most stared forward sullenly. One woman with long, unkempt hair cried and blew her nose into a well-worn handkerchief. The man with her did not even glance at her or the noise. He kept his eyes downcast, even as the line moved forward.

The other line, the much shorter one, was labeled _Noncompliant Werewolf Registry_. Remus stepped over the burgundy velvet ropes. The werewolf in front of him looked nearly seventy with gray hair and a red-rust mouth. He smelt like old metal and sweat. _Great company to be_, he mused sarcastically. Remus checked his pocket watch. A quarter 'til four. He barely made it by the deadline. He wasn't rushing to completely reenter the Muggle world. To live the life he had after the first war, after James and Lily had died, and Peter had disappeared and Sirius had gone to Azkaban. Remus had spent many years alone; many full moons raging at himself for all of his losses. This time he wouldn't even have his wand or Wolfsbane. Or anyone.

When he was next in line, Remus heard a familiar voice.

"Excuse me. No really. Let me through. I said, excuse me, no need to be so rude."

Hermione arrived at his shoulder just as the officiating wizard yelled, "Next!" Immediately, she grabbed ahold of his cloak and pulled him toward the other line. The other werewolves behind them jostled forward to fill Remus and Hermione's vacant spots. Remus tried to dig his heels in, but they were already around the velvet rope, and were entering the marriage registry line.

"Can you believe how rude that man was," she said conversationally, as if he had seen the whole ordeal.

"No, Hermione. Stop it," he tried to whisper, but it came out much louder. Gods, he was in the middle of the Ministry trying to resist a witch who was nearly a foot shorter than him. Where was his wand when he needed it? She grasped him firmly and it was difficult to slip his hand into his inside cloak pocket.

"Hermione Granger?" piped up one of the witches in the marriage queue. "Let her through. Let her through." The older witch, who wore bright magenta lipstick and a fox-skin hat, shoved back the other werewolves and their future spouses. She snapped her fingers at the large man who must have jostled Hermione earlier; he had begun to protest with his teeth bared. "She was at the Battle of Hogwarts, she was. Leave it alone." Remus bristled at the man's hostility toward Hermione. Without missing a beat, Hermione turned him back toward the front of the line.

"Hi," Hermione said to the magistrate. "I'm Hermione Granger." She smiled demurely. "Terribly sorry. I believe he was in the wrong line. We haven't missed the deadline, have we?"

"No, Miss Granger, you haven't." The magistrate, a tall man with blond hair and a monocle, squinted his eyes at her. "Can't say I expected to see you here."

"Well, sir, I expect everyone here feels the same way." She smiled at him again. "Especially on such a nice Sunday."

Remus held up his hand to get the magistrate's attention. "Actually, sir, I was in the correct line." He glared briefly at Hermione; he gave her the stern face he usually reserved for scolding particularly troublesome students. Her face crumpled slightly before she recovered and glared back. "I am not here to get married. I need to be in the other line and she needs to go home. Isn't that right, Miss Granger?"

If it was possible, Hermione's gaze became steelier than before. Remus presumed it was the "Miss Granger" comment. Even more firmly, she wrapped her hand into the edge of his cloak should he attempt to escape.

"Yes, well, what _Mr. Lupin_," she emphasized his name, "here has failed to realize is – is that – he made a promise. It's now his duty to fulfill such a promise."

"I don't know what she's talking about. I'll just get back into the other line. My line." Remus started back towards the other side, but Hermione shoved her wand into his ribs. She shook her head 'no' and her eyes narrowed at him.

The magistrate rolled his eyes upward and readjusted his monocle. "Merlin's beard, are you getting married or not?" he asked pointedly. "There are people behind you who've already made up their minds."

"You promised," she repeated to Remus. "We promised each other."

It was the day of Ron's funeral. Although it was cold, the day was sunny for November. He was the last of their dead. All of the other casualties from the Battle of Hogwarts were already buried, nearly a month ago. But Ron had hung on, incoherent and feverish, for weeks in St. Mungo's. He held on to the very end for her. Hermione wore a long black dress and a charcoal grey peacoat. Everyone called her a soldier. She sat by the graveside quietly; she watched calmly as they poured the dirt in. On the edge of the cemetery, Harry stood next to Remus and they watched her hover over the grave. She had yet to drop the flowers she had conjured. Their bright green leaves and orange buds contrasted sharply with the dead brown grass and rows of muted tombstones. The Weasleys had all hugged Hermione and left her be, with even Molly tearing herself away to give Hermione her alone time.

"I've tried speaking with her, but she doesn't say much. Only says a word or two," Harry said. "Same with Molly and Ginny. She's shutting us all out."

"She's a lost a lot. We all have. Can you blame her?" replied Remus.

"Not, but we're her friends, too. We all lost Ron."

"She lost more than just Ron. She lost her future." Remus felt suddenly tired as he thought back to Dora's funeral. Everything they planned wiped away, as if she had never existed at all, as if he had simply dreamed her up. His only proof was that piece of stone that bore her name. Andromeda had already stopped by their house (just sold last week) to gather reminders of her daughter. Remus could not stand to be in the house anymore with Dora's scent clinging to every surface. All her things – her clothes, her photos – haunted him from room to room. He had let Andromeda pack it up alone before the new owners showed up. He moved into a low-rent flat and still had not emptied any of his boxes. It still didn't feel real.

"Everything has changed, Remus, I realize that. But we're all afraid she won't come in tonight. She might stay out here."

"What of it? Hermione is a grown witch. She can mourn as she pleases."

"She'll be alone," said Harry. "Ron wouldn't want her to stand over him day and night. She won't listen to any of us. She won't Apparate back with me or anyone else."

"I'll go talk with her." Remus clapped Harry on the shoulder and gave him a grim smile before striding off.

He closed the distance between them quickly, taking long strides across the cemetery. Standing next to Hermione in her black dress and carefully curled hair, Remus felt self-conscious. He touched the short beard he had grown out since he had stopped shaving, since Dora had died. His dress robes were no longer black, but a strangely off-color magenta. It was doubtful that his scruffy appearance and ill-fitting clothing would make anything better.

Gently, he took the flowers out of her hand and placed them next to the waving and smiling carving of Ron's face. Her face was slightly swollen and her eyes lined with red. He offered her a handkerchief from his pocket.

"Thank you," she said, dabbing at her eyes. "This is the first time I've actually cried. Really cried. Can you believe that? What sort of girlfriend does that make me? Horrible, right?" She did her best to grin at him, but failed, and resumed wiping at the corners of eyes.

"We all mourn differently," Remus said.

"Yes, well, isn't that grand." She twisted the handkerchief around in her hands. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this."

"None of this was. We lost him too soon. We lost them all much too soon."

Hermione crossed her arms, looking off in the distance with an indignant expression on her face. "They said he'd make it. He was fine. He was completely fine. It was just one hex. Or two. We carried him out of Hogwarts. Alive. He was alive, unlike most. Madame Pomfrey promised me. She said he would make it. She promised."

"She did the best she could. You did everything that you could. You were there for him. The whole time. And he knew it, too. At least, you got to say goodbye," said Remus. This time he looked away; he tried to focus on the mountains in the distance as well to keep his composure.

She hung her head and sighed. "Gods, Remus, I'm sorry. I didn't even – I didn't even think." Hermione shoved her hands into her coat pockets. "Did I ever tell you that I saw her. Right before everything. Right before they broke down the gate." Hermione looked at him; his jaw tensed and he avoided her gaze. "She winked at me and made that ridiculous duck face." Her voice was on the verge of breaking; tears threatened again. "You were across the room, in your fighting stance; I don't think you saw. She blew you a kiss and then set a _Protego_ over you. Bellatrix nearly killed you and you didn't even know it." Hermione cleared her throat. "I lost sight of her after that, but she loved you, Remus, 'til the very end."

He found himself choking up again. Drinking had kept his feelings at bay; a nice numb feeling replaced them. Remus forced himself to sober up the past week in preparation for today. _She loved you – 'til the very end_. Gods, and Bellatrix would be the death of her and by extension the death of him. His body felt colder than the November wind that swept through the gravestones.

"I won't go back with you." Hermione broke through his thoughts. "I know Harry or Molly sent you. I'm staying."

"It will be dark soon. You know that you can't stay out here," said Remus. He had been rational; he had left Dora behind at her grave. Hermione was rational like him – bookish, studious, logical.

"No," she replied fiercely. She took off her coat and laid it on the ground and then sat down.

He knelt behind her and took ahold of her shoulders. A chill already set about her skin since her dress was sleeveless. "Let's go. Molly will be expecting us. He was her son, too."

"But he was mine," she said softly at him. She pried his fingers off her. "I knew him." Her voice rose in volume. "He was mine."

Remus stood back a moment, letting her fume. He then crouched in front of her and put his own coat around her shoulders. It was a well-worn and washed-out jacket that had patches at the elbows, but it was warm. She angrily wiped tears from her face; she did not look at his face. Begrudgingly, she pulled the fabric around her body.

"You'll get cold."

"Then let's go. No need for either of us to stay out here."

She didn't even say a word. Hermione just slapped him. Then she punched his chest. He rocked backwards on his heels, but stayed on his feet. She tried furiously to knock him over, to harm him, to remove his face from her line of sight. The slap came as a shock; however, he let her rage at him. Eventually, he was able to trap her hands within his own. He moved his weight to his knees and pulled her against his chest. Once she was in his arms and pressed against him, she allowed herself to sob freely. He held her head to him and made soothing noises, saying nonsense words until she began to grow quiet. Remus put his face against those perfectly formed curls, so different from her usually wild hair. When she had ceased shaking, he pulled her to her feet.

"Promise me. Promise me that you will always get back up. No matter what. We can't lose you, too. Promise me that you will remember how much you are loved." She didn't reply. He gripped her arms and bent closer to her face. His eyes pleaded with her to agree with him. "Promise me."

"I promise." She nodded for extra emphasis. Her face remained pale though.

"Good. Good, girl. We always fight. We bite and claw 'til the very end." He smiled sadly at his choice of words. "Come on." He started leading her toward the exit.

"Wait." She stopped him. "I promised you. Where's your promise? What will your promise be?"

He smiled sadly and thought for a moment. "How about I promise to be there. For you, that is. If that's okay? Is that a good promise?"

"Very good." She took his hand. His coat sleeve was too long for her and it hid their intertwined fingers. It was comforting to hold someone else's hand. "I promise to be there for you, too. No one else understands. They try, but they just can't." She looked over at him and said, "Is that a good promise?"

"Yes," said Remus. The magistrate looked on expectedly. Hermione seemed to be holding her breath. She looked nervously at him; her wand no longer jabbed into his ribs. "Yes, I remember the promise." This time he took Hermione's hand. "I believe I'm in the right line this time."


	4. Why Don't We Break the Rules Already

theDarkIsRising

Apparently, 2007!me relished plot holes and inaccurate dates. I've added some minor details to the beginning chapters concerning the Battle of Hogwarts and Remus' relationship with Tonks. The dates should be more canon. I'll be beta-ing my early fics for sanity's sake. Thanks for reading and feel free to skim the initial three chapters for those small plot details.

The Night Will Go As Follows

4. WHY DON'T WE BREAK THE RULES ALREADY

The letter she received from the Ministry was simply a form letter. Hermione pulled it off a barn owl's leg shortly after Apparating back to her London flat from Remus'. She clutched the rolled parchment and used the other to dab uselessly at the tears on her face. The bird tilted its head at her, looking annoyed; perhaps it had been sitting there awhile.

However, it was still quite odd for the Ministry to take nearly two days to return an owl. Granted she had sent it on a Sunday, but still – the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures often worked around the clock. She'd seen them come in on multiple weekends, whenever she worked overtime. Her own department, the Muggle Liaison Office, had a large workload cleaning up the magical mess that was England. They continued working hard to gain the trust of the Muggle Ministry again. Hermione liked her work; it was important and necessary. It made her so exhausted some days as to completely block out memories of the war, memories of the dead.

Hermione stared at the letter. Her mind was very much still with Remus and her offer to marry him. She had nearly completely ruined it. Her inability to keep her mouth shut would be death of her. She didn't know what had come over her. Physically, she shook her head to clear it. The way he looked at her when she backed away and ran out the door – he must think I'm completely crazy. He'll have better offers. Much better ones than some silly girl he taught as a third year. Releasing a shaky breath to calm herself, Hermione unrolled the parchment:

_Dear Miss Hermione Granger,_

_Thank you for you multiple inquiries concerning the Werewolf Reform Bill R938. At the Ministry of Magic, all laws are implemented to protect and to serve all of wizarding kind. We feel assured that this bill will aid us in doing so. At this moment, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures is not releasing any addition information about Bill R938. Please consult your wizarding media – the _Wizarding Wireless Network_ or the _Daily Prophet_ – for official press releases from the Ministry concerning this topic. _

_Sincerely,_

_Ara Hawkwood_

Surely, Ara had not signed off on this. But Hermione wouldn't know. She scowled down at the parchment; the Ministry wasn't letting anyone near the Magical Creatures department. After writing her letters, Hermione had gone to the Ministry the next day. Her sense of distraught had abated, but Remus's deadened face still haunted her. Logically, if she could just speak to someone in the department, this could all be settled; they were all sensible people. However, upon arriving to fourth level of the Ministry, a bevy of reporters were blocking the department's entrance. There was no way she could get to the Werewolf Registry without causing a commotion. And as Harry Potter's surviving friend, Hermione always could cause a commotion.

The reporters were shouting questions at Amos Diggory, who had risen from a clerk within the Beast Division to now running the entire department. He grinned broadly from his podium with the Ministry seal on the front. Hermione noted with disgust how proud he looked of himself.

"Diggory! Diggory!" yelled a _Daily Prophet _reporter. "What was the reasoning behind this bill? It has been two years since He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was vanquished."

Hanging back at the elevators, Hermione waited for his answer. No one had noticed she had arrived. Thankfully working at the Ministry since the war had finally made her appearance there commonplace.

"Just because Voldemort," Diggory paused, a look of pain on his face, "has been vanquished does not mean the work is done. The past two years we have worked to tidy up this department and better serve the magical creatures under our care. However, we could be better. As you know, we've tagged all the known centaurs and have the vampires on a regular feeding schedule. Now we needed to turn our attention to the werewolves, who have been woefully underserved. Werewolf Support Services has never been used, so more stringent measures need to be taken to regulate this particular Beast populace."

Hermione frowned at the use of the word 'Beast.' She absolutely hated how the Ministry lumped werewolves into the same category as dragons and ghouls. As if a human being with an affliction that came once a month was comparable to a fire-breathing lizard or a slimy ogre. She should have petitioned for the Magical Creatures department; this was ludicrous.

More questions were lobbed at Diggory. "What do you say to people who think these conditions are too harsh?"

"Too harsh?" Diggory laughed good-naturedly. "Why, we are only asking them what we ask of every other witch or wizard: get a job and be a productive member of society. We are already keeping tabs on them, so this is just a natural progression in the Werewolf Registry. I admit the timeline is a bit short, but we feared waiting too long. We've had some grave news about several werewolves." He looked grimly across the crowd.

"What news? What's happened?"

He waved the female reporter off. "Nothing the Ministry can fully divulge at this moment. Just rested assured that we picked appropriate timelines and will have these werewolves ship-shape soon."

"What exactly will be the punishment for any werewolf that will not follow your new guidelines?"

"There are steps for non-compliant werewolves. If they refuse to come to the Ministry by the deadline, then they will be detained. Any unwilling to follow these simple rules, will certainly lose magical privileges. We do not wish to do so, but wand-snapping is always an option to ensure compliance. If these werewolves will not submit to Ministry law, then what right to magic do they have?"

"Won't that be dangerous, sir?"

Amos Diggory grinned and touched the side of his nose. "My dear, they may not have a wand anymore, but that doesn't mean we won't still have a magical trace. Non-compliant werewolves in the Muggle world will still be under surveillance. I feel assured our incentive will keep most of the werewolves in compliance." He surveyed the room, skimming over the raised hands. "I think that's all the time we have for questions. Please send your owls to my secretary should you need to ask anything else."

He attempted to wave his way back to his office, but a wizard with a recording device caught up to him. "What about the rumors that some non-compliant werewolves are being taken to Azkaban?"

Diggory turned red and spun on his heel to face the shorter wizard; his recording device was shoved under Diggory's nose awaiting a reply. "Those slanderous rumors are unfounded. Completely, utterly rubbish." Diggory swept away down the corridor as the reporters hit some sort of magical barrier that prevented them from following.

Hermione remained in a state of shock. Azkaban? All thoughts of getting into the department and talking it out were gone. Diggory looked so proud of himself, so assure in his plan. Gods, what could they be playing at? Hermione was too lost in thought to notice that the reporters were starting to leave the level. She should have already been gone by now.

"Is that her? Is that Hermione Granger?"

She saw one point her out, then several of them abandoned their attempt to get on a lift and hurried over to her.

"Miss Granger! Miss Granger!"

Instinctively, Hermione moved for her wand, her heart pounding. Her reflexes kicked in and she nearly cursed the man closest to her. Taking a deep breath, she merely kept one hand on her wand and moved toward a lift.

"Miss Granger, what do you think about the new werewolf law? Do you have anything to say about it?"

"No comment." She tried to move through the crowd; her office was only one level above them. "If you'll excuse me, I must get back to work."

"Don't you have a werewolf acquaintance? Miss Granger, how will this affect him – what is his name?" the short wizard trailed off, now sticking his recording device in her face.

"Lupin," piped up another. "Remus Lupin."

"Please excuse me. No comment. I need on this lift."

She shoved past one reporter who tried to enter it with her. Quickly, she pressed the doors closed, mashed the 'Level 3' button and leaned against the back of the elevator. Hermione could still see them; only the grate door separated them. Her hand still lay on her wand should they try to get any closer.

"Does he have a wife? Wait, isn't she dead? Miss Granger! Will he comply? Will he marry?"

"Or will he get his wand snapped?"

"Will you ever get to see him again?"

"Is he dangerous?"

"What will you be doing? Are you married?"

Thankfully, the lift finally shot off, leaving their incessant questions behind. This was worse than she feared. Much, much worse. She relaxed her grip on her wand, massaging her hand since she had gripped it so hard. _What will you be doing? _Their questions echoed after her. The Ministry would not be simply persuaded to drop this law. Diggory made that assured.

Thinking back, as she listened to those reporters and Diggory, Hermione felt like an ice cube dropped into her stomach. It was a familiar feeling – anytime Harry collapsed from a vision, whenever the Snatchers were at their backs. Even now, as Hermione stared down at the form letter, her stomach felt uneasy. They couldn't even personalize a response to a Ministry official. Remus didn't stand a chance. The owl bit her finger and flew out the window. Cursing, she dropped the letter and the handkerchief Remus had handed her. For once, Hermione was at a loss about what to do next.

She couldn't go back to Remus. He made it very clear how he felt about the situation. Her heart constricted, and Hermione angrily crumpled up the letter, throwing into her fireplace. What more could she say to him to change his mind? I received a very disturbing form letter from the Ministry. How terrifying. No, he'd rather have his wand snapped and be even worse off. So, to calm her nerves, she baked. It was silly; it was stupid. She didn't bake before the war. Admittedly, she was a fair cook, but she had never mastered a meringue.

Pulling the milk and eggs out of her fridge, Hermione felt her hands steady. Remus had nearly nothing in his fridge, which if she accounted for his skinny appearance, must be a regular occurrence. When Molly let her cook at the Burrow, Remus wolfed down whatever was given to him. Once, he complimented a simple beef and noodle casserole. It was easy. Hermione gazed out the window. Against the inky blackness, the waning moon hung above London. He must be starving; Hermione knew his metabolism accelerated at this time of the month. Remus needed to eat; he needed to know they were all still here for him. _I promised. We promised_, she thought. This month would be rough; Remus would need something chocolate. She started cutting shortening into her flour for a pie crust.

The following days were torture. Once again, Hermione broke into his apartment. He didn't answer his door – no surprise, but when she entered, he was nowhere to be seen. She hovered over the note for a while. Honestly, she wanted to write a detailed list about how stupid he was acting, how much danger he was in, and how he needed to come to his senses. Instead, she boiled it down to simply _I'm terribly sorry, Remus. For everything._ It had taken her several tries to get it right. She scribbled out the rest, the rejects, the sentimental pleadings concerning love or promises.

Then she waited. Hermione went back to work and spent her day waiting there. The Ministry and all her work duties, which had been a comfort to her, now felt wrong and distracting. She kept thinking about the level directly below her and what was happening within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Her anxiety peaked in a meeting, when distracted, she broke her quill, which had been full of ink. Blushing, she profusely apologized to her colleagues and escaped from the room.

In the bathroom, she used her wand to clean off as much of the ink as she could. Her white shirt was surely ruined. Ara Hawkwood came out of a stall as Hermione washed up. Ara barely made eye contact with her before scurrying out into the hallway. Hermione tried to catch her, but Ara had already disappeared. She knows. I knew she'd never agree to this.

Hermione asked for the rest of the day off, citing a headache for her behavior and subsequent need to leave. Immediately, she Apparated to Remus' apartment. He hadn't said anything about the food, but it also had not reappeared at her flat, which she took to be a good sign. Tentatively, she placed her hand on the door. The metal was cold; the hallway was drafty, letting in the autumn chill. She couldn't hear anything inside. The full moon had been last night, so he was probably sleeping. Or maybe awake, but still in his hidey hole underneath the floorboards.

"Remus?" she asked, hesitantly.

"Remus, are you in? Are you okay?"

Silence greeted her from the other side. She might have heard a slight shuffle beneath her, but it was too faint for her to know for sure. Hermione dared not force her way inside again.

She knocked once more. When no answer came, she placed her palm against the door and whispered, "You stupid, bloody idiot." Then she left.

The remaining days until the deadline seemed to pass slowly and quickly. Hermione agonized over his decision, but the days slipped by faster and faster. Stopping by the Burrow, she heard from Arthur that other women had proposed to Remus. Hermione swallowed thickly as she stared at him, waiting to hear what happened.

"Margie said that she feared he would bite her for asking him. Poor Suzanne Bilby – you know from the Improper Use of Magic Office – he shut the door in her face," Arthur said.

Hermione's heart fluttered and sped up. "Well, she did ask him around the full moon. That can make him testy."

Arthur smiled slightly and nodded when Molly asked if he needed more tea. "I daresay it wasn't just the moon working on him. Don't you agree, dear?"

Molly looked up briefly before busying herself with her garden boots. Apparently, the gnomes were becoming a nuisance. "Hm, yes. I'm sure he has much on his mind." She wrestled the large Wellingtons onto her feet and promptly stepped out the back door.

Biting her lower lip, Hermione swirled the tea in her mug. When she had finally told everyone what she had done – proposing to Remus – most had commended her: for her bravery, for her kindness, for her selflessness. Yet, Molly Weasley had given Hermione the queerest look and remained unusually silent on the matter. Now whenever the subject was brought up, Molly inevitably made for the nearest exit.

"You'll have to excuse her," Arthur said. "It was particularly hard on her, losing Ron. Now, I guess she thinks she's losing you."

"What? I'm not going anywhere."

"Oh, we know we'll still see you, but I think she still sees you as the daughter-in-law she never had." He tried to give Hermione a reassuring grin. "You know how Molly is about letting go of things."

"I guess, I honestly figured, she objected to Remus. I didn't think she had spoken to him recently."

"Well, he hasn't spoken to anyone recently, but the issue of Remus did come up as well. You know he's quite a bit older than you, could be your father; he's a werewolf, which is the whole reason for the law anyway. And he's taken to drinking quite-" Arthur stalled when he looked over at Hermione.

She was gaping at him in disbelief. "I guess it would shock everyone that I am well aware of all those points. And quite frankly, I thought we'd all be more supportive. He has as much control over being a werewolf as he does over this law. He needs someone."

"Hermione, I didn't mean to say you had not thought this through. We just worry about you as well. This is a big undertaking."

"I know. I appreciate your concern." She left her tea untouched at the table. "Tell Molly I said good-bye. I promised Harry I'd have supper with him." Hermione spun out of sight before Arthur could say anything else.

At least, Harry did not give her a hard time about marrying Remus. The pub wasn't full when she arrived, so it was easy to spot him with his messy mop of black hair. He looked dead on his feet. Apparently, it was some sort of "hell week" in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, as they trained new Aurors, putting them through rigorous drills. Harry laughed as he told her that he even recruited Ginny to take a day off from Harpies practice to scare the recruits with her _Reducto _Curse. Hermione grinned as she listened and silently ate her fish and chips, periodically mulling over how many days were left until the deadline.

Noting her silence, Harry ran a hand through his hair, causing to stand up. "Hermione, you might as well let it go. You did everything that you could. He's stubborn. I'd say about as stubborn as you, so it maybe a lost cause."

"But we can't let him get thrown out, have his wand snapped," retorted Hermione.

"I don't like it any more than you do. He's my parents' best mate. He's helped us all, many times over." He paused. "Maybe he wants this."

"What does that mean?"

"I dunno. Maybe he thinks he'd be happier just living as a Muggle. Magic hasn't done him or even any of us any favors."

She stabbed her piece of fish violently. "That's rich coming from a wizard who isn't being threatened with a wand snapping. We have to fix this; he can't leave. I refuse to accept that."

"Okay," said Harry. He readjusted his glasses and leaned in closer. "What's your plan?"

"Gods, I don't know. I've already proposed. He knows I would do it. But he won't come out of his bloody apartment. He won't talk to anyone."

"So if it was me, or – or – even Ron, let's say, needing help and acting like this, what would you do?"

"I'd throttle you," she quipped, making Harry laugh.

"That you would, but seriously, how would you get us to go along with you?"

"I'd make you. I'd show up and hold you hostage until you did what I wanted."

Harry leaned back in his chair, looking pleased with himself. "Exactly."

On Sunday, Hermione put on a nice dress as she planned to get married that day. She didn't have anything fancy. The nicest one she had was the simple red dress that she wore to Bill and Fleur's wedding. Remus danced with her that night after Ron had swept her around the dance floor. And he had literally swept her around until the song was over, but Hermione laughed the entire time. However, Remus kept a firm grip on her waist and hand, leading her with purpose through the waltz that played. At the end, he thanked her for being such a graceful dancing partner. A blush had crept up her cheeks; no one had ever applied the word 'graceful' to her before. This dress would do fine.

The Ministry was busy for a Sunday. It took her far too long to get the Level Four. Her heart started to pound. What if she completely botched this and showed up late? She kept checking her watch as the lift went down and over and down again. She ran out of the doors and immediately had to shove past some ghouls that blocked the department's doors. She shivered at their cold, clammy touch.

She scanned the entry way; it was full of centaurs and vampires. However, Hermione spotted him easily as he stood a head taller than the man next to him. He was gazing forward blankly as his rather short line moved forward. As she tried to make her way to him, a large werewolf sniffed at her and showed his teeth, and said, "Back of the line, missy. We've been here."

"I'm just going right over there." She glanced up and saw the sign. "I'm going to the _Non-Compliant Werewolf _line, not this one. Now. Excuse me." He blocked her way. "No really. Let me through." He did not budge; he growled slightly. Hermione calmly extracted her wand from her pocket and pointed it at him. "I said, excuse me, no need to be so rude." At the sight of her wand, the man backed off slightly, allowing her to slip around him.

Grabbing Remus, she forcefully dragged him toward the _Werewolf Marriage and Occupation Registry_. He muttered protests against her actions and tried to get back into his own line. It was all going so well until he looked down at her with disapproval and called her "Miss Granger." Her heart felt leaden as he continually tried to shake her off and get back into his old line, the one that would leave him wandless and a Muggle. It had been a long time since she had felt herself sink to the bottom; it had not been since the War, since Ron died. Her rock bottom was in that cemetery, crying over her dead boyfriend. She vowed never to return.

"You promised," she said fiercely to Remus. "We promised each other."

He grew very quiet, very contemplative. He no longer tried to wriggle out of her grasp. She let loose of his cloak and let her wand go slack. Turning to her, he gazed into her eyes with an unreadable expression. "Yes," he said, barely above a whisper. "Yes, I remember the promise." Then he took her hand. It felt unnaturally hot against her skin. Remus turned back to the magistrate and said, "I believe I'm in the right line this time."

"Good, well, glad that's all decide," the magistrate said. He squinted at the two and motioned for them to get closer. "Clasp hands, you two, clasp hands. We haven't got all day."

Hermione reached for his empty hand. Remus shook his head 'no,' which startled her. Was he backing out, after he already agreed

"It's all right," he said softly. "We just need to switch hands. The ceremony requires it to be exact." Then he took her left hand in his left and her right hand in his right. Their arms were crisscrossed over one another. "We're making a knot," he explained to her confused expression. "Unbroken and united."

Her mind was hazy. Hermione wanted to complain that the arm-knot ritual had been absent from the wizarding marriage book she read or else she would have been prepared for that. Then her heart began to pound as the magistrate began reciting the vows. She found herself stumbling over them, despite the fact she looked them up a few days ago. Wizard vows were short, only a sentence and she could barely say it.

"Remus Lupin, I am bound to you, united to you, to honor and to cherish in joy and sorrow until my life ends and my magic leaves me."

She couldn't read his expression. He took a deep breath and repeated the same vows back to her. His voice was low, despite the rather loud group standing directly behind them. She imagined only she could properly hear what he was saying. His eyes locked on hers and his gripped tightened on her hands. "Hermione Granger, I am bound to you, united to you, to honor and to cherish in joy and sorrow until my life ends and my magic leaves me."

He did not break from looking at her face until the magistrate cleared his throat and Remus seemed to take a deep breath and resurface to the world around them. He gazed around, looking at the other werewolves and the Ministry officials looking at them. Hermione watched as he slipped away from the moment. He became impassive again and she wished he would look at her again, if even for a moment.

"Splendid. I now pronounce you man and wife." Hermione began to release Remus' hands, but he squeezed his around hers and held them in place. A golden light shot out from the magistrate's wand and wrapped around their crisscrossed arms. It hovered before sinking into their skin, leaving faint glittery trains along their hands before disappearing completely. Hermione felt her skin prick and tingle. Only after the light dissipated did Remus finally let go of her hands. The magistrate gave a short clap and signed a marriage certificate. He handed it to Remus and began filling out another. After a beat, he looked at them, as if surprised they were still there.

"Congratulations and all that. Do you want to kiss? Some of the Muggleborns do that sort of thing."

Hermione, in the moment, had forgotten about that detail. She felt herself blush. Remus looked stricken; he glanced at her sideways, his head turning slightly, looking scared as to what her answer to that would. The thought of kissing Remus at all, much less in front of all these strangers, turned her head around. Her stomach liquefied with fear and some other notion that she did not have time to register.

"Um, no, that's quite all right. We'll just go ahead and go then."


	5. Not Sure If Anybody Understands

theDarkIsRising

Sorry for the last chapter being confusing. I was trying to backtrack on Hermione's timeline and I double-double backtracked. The events are in this order: she send letters; goes to Ministry for answers; asks Remus to marry her; receives form letter; full moon; marriage! I may try to fix that.

Thanks for all the favs/follows. Please review; I love to hear from readers. As the saying goes, the more the merrier.

The Night Will Go As Follows

5. NOT SURE IF ANYBODY UNDERSTANDS

What would Sirius say if he could see him now? Probably, a slew of insults followed by a smart clap on the back. _Moony marrying! Never thought I'd live to see the day. Well, actually, I didn't. Robbing the cradle, though, aren't we? You seem to like them younger and younger these days. I'm sure you two will go over just fine_. Sirius would give Remus a hearty wink and maybe pass around some Firewhiskey. Remus would definitely need to find some Firewhiskey as soon as they made it out of the Ministry. He really should have taken a drink before coming in here anyway. His nerves felt frazzled, but he could not deny the relief of not having his wand snapped. The jostling of the other werewolves and their spouses mildly intruded on his thoughts; however, he was firmly anchored to the hand that still held his.

Hermione's face was still tinged pink from the magistrate asking if they wanted to kiss. His heart had thumped double-time to that request; his mind gone blank. Actually, his mind felt quite blank as soon as the marriage vows started. He was glad they exchanged the simple wizarding vows. He liked how uncomplicated they were. Remus remembered discussing such things with Dora. They quibbled over idiotic decisions, like flowers and tablecloths and rings. It seemed like a very long time ago; it all seemed so very trivial. Dora would have kissed him without hesitation, with an abandoned that would have made the magistrate blush instead. But now a much shorter witch held his hand, pulling him once again out of line. His fingers continued to tingle from the binding magic. It felt like a quick jolt of electricity when the spell was cast, sending prickles up his spin. Remus looked over to Hermione, wondering if she too could still feel the magic coursing through her. As he looked down at her determined expression, he noticed Hermione was wearing a red dress, the one from Bill and Fleur's wedding. She looked quite pretty in it, red was her color; he remembered thinking so the first time he saw her in it.

Her brown eyes were wide when he asked her to dance. Remus had watched Ron Weasley swing Hermione across the dance floor. It all looked rather violent as Ron moved about with no regard to rhythm or the other dancers, but Hermione giggled and slapped his arm playfully when he nearly ran into people. One crystal vase filled with lilies was barely saved from him and his path of destruction. Finally, when the music faded into a slower tune, Remus moved from the far corner of the tent and tapped Hermione on the shoulder. She was slightly out of breath and she looked surprised at his arrival.

"Mind if I have this next dance?" he asked her. Ron looked a bit put off. "I mean, if you don't mind."

Ron cracked a slight grin and shrugged. "Sure, no problem, mate. Need a drink anyway." He leaned in conspiratorially. "Watch out though. She's a right awful dancer." He winked and walked off.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him and turned back to Remus. They took their positions and began waltzing. "Thank you. Ron, while I do love him, cannot dance to save his life, despite what he says about me. I think we made a few people quite upset."

"You looked in need of saving," Remus said. He made eye contact with a portly woman who was giving Hermione a scathing look. "I think the Horntons will get over that slight affront. Eventually."

Then Hermione saw the woman and groaned. She turned her face into Remus' lapel, studiously paying attention to his white rose boutonniere. "Fleur did such a wonderful job with this on such short notice." She paused and looked around, before leaning in further to whisper, "Although, it is a bit too purple."

As they turned in time with the music, Remus surveyed the lavish white, gold, and lavender decorations. "True. Luckily, you provide a nice contrast." He grinned.

Hermione bit down on her lower lip and color rose to her cheeks. "Yes, well, this dress – is just something I had. If I'd been told what the wedding colors were in advance, I could have matched, but obviously, that didn't happen."

"I don't think you should worry about it. You look very becoming in red."

The song was ending and he noticed her face had begun to match her dress. "Thank you, Professor Lupin."

He released her hands, shoving his own into his pockets to occupy them. His brown dress robes looked nearly new, as he had borrowed them from Arthur the day before. Remus contemplated asking for another dance, but thought better of it. He had yet to dance with Dora, who had been perusing the buffet and joking with the Weasley twins. He had been putting off such a dance since Dora had two left feet despite her best dancing efforts. He saw Ron making his way over and looked back at Hermione. "Oh, and Ron is a serious waste of your talent. You are a very graceful dancer. I daresay Professor McGonagall taught you well."

She murmured another 'thank you' as Ron came up behind them. Her expression was a bit distant, far off, as if somewhere else. As Ron handed her a drink, Remus could still feel her eyes following him across the room. It was easy to keep an eye on her that night; her red dress stood out amongst the black dress robes and pale, billowy gowns. Remus could see her up until the Patronus came and announced that the Minister of Magic was dead, Then all hell broke loose. He drew his wand, looking for Dora to make sure she was safe. Harry ran to save Ginny, but Remus shoved him away, yelling at him to run. Remus barely saw a streak of red grab Harry and Ron then Apparate out of sight. He let out a breath that he did not realize he had been holding and turned to the nearest Death Eater.

"You wore your red dress," he said. Their line had paused. It looked to be quite as difficult to get out of the Ministry as it had to get in.

"Yes, well, I did want to look nice." She hazarded a smile and nudged him, trying to seem flippant. However, her smile did not quite reach her eyes. "In case there was a wedding."

"Red is your color. I must say, you are persistent, Hermione. I will give you that. Running in here to save the day. Standing up to that rather large bloke back there. But really we must talk about this. I'm sure –" Remus turned from her as a woman in a black skirt suit interrupted them. She was revealed as the couple in front of them moved off to the side. He had not noticed that they had reached another table with another Ministry official.

"Yes, hello, your papers?" the woman asked kindly. She seemed tired and upon closer inspection her shirt was wrinkled. "Remus J. Lupin and…Hermione J. Granger?" The woman looked up quickly, pushing up her glasses. "Hermione?" Her mouth opened at the sight of the two, properly taking in the sight of them.

"Pleasa, Ara, don't announce it across the room. Yes, it's me," hissed Hermione. At first, Remus felt taken a back at her refusal to be acknowledged, then he followed her line of sight and saw a cluster of reporters outside the department's doors. They were accosting werewolves as they were leaving, asking for interviews.

"Whatever you want," shot back Ara in a forced whisper. "You're not a werewolf are you?" Her eyes widened.

"Dear Merlin, look at the paper, what do you think?" Hermione said.

Before the woman could look down, Remus stepped in, "The werewolf would be me."

"Oh, right, that's what I figured. I mean, I've worked with Hermione for quite some time and she has never – you know – seemed like a werewolf." She paused. "Not that I mean werewolves seem one way or another."

"I'd say we all seem the same at certain time of the month," said Remus. He didn't think his smile helped ease the woman's apparent anxiety.

"Yes, so, now that you two have been," her eyes moved between the pair, "married, do you have your employment papers, Mr. Lupin? We need to file those next with the Ministry."

Hermione looked at him expectedly. He anxiously patted himself down as if he would find something, but he knew that he'd find nothing. He fiddled in his pockets, fingering a few holes, as if to find a slip of parchment that might have fallen through. Remus planned to be cut off from the wizarding world today; he had not brought any employment papers nor a wife with him. One had shown up unexpectedly. He sincerely doubted Hermione had brought along a new job for him as well.

"Remus? You did bring them, didn't you?" Hermione asked.

"Actually, would you believe it, I've left them at home," he said, finishing lamely. He looked back to the Ministry official. Hermione had called her, Ara, right? "Miss Ara, I -"

Clearing her throat, Hermione interjected, "This all happened rather quickly. You can understand. We came rushing down here trying to meet the deadline and completely forgot a few things. Someone was being rather stubborn." She shot a hurried scowl at Remus. "It looks like we don't have those papers on us."

"Oh, I see. You really are supposed to have them today. Mr. Diggory clearly said that this all must be taken care of today."

"Come on, Ara," whispered Hermione. "As if you like any of this."

"It's my job. What else am I supposed to do?"

Remus felt Hermione stiffen next to him. Her expression was stricken. Amos Diggory passed a few feet away from them. "Please," she hissed. "I'll do whatever."

Ara glanced sideways, noticed her departmental head and proceeded in an higher-pitched voice. "It seems, Mr. Lupin, that all is in order. As we work to streamline this process, please answer any Ministry owls or any direct summons to the Ministry. We look forward to working with you to make a brighter wizarding future. Just sign here. Both of you."

She thrust the quill at Remus, rather violently, as the feather poked him in the face. "Bought you some time," Ara said softly. "But not very much. We'll file these soon. Get me your papers as soon as possible. Send it express mail. You don't even want to know the consequences." Then her expression melted into one of cheerful neutrality. She looked past the pair and waved them on. "Congratulations. Have a great day."

For the third time that day, Hermione Granger grabbed Remus and proceeded to drag him behind her. The lobby had cleared out slightly as fewer and fewer people and "creatures" came through the double doors. Remus could hear Hermione muttering to herself, "There must be a back way out of here. There just must be."

"Where would this door be?" he asked. "Can't we just go out the front?"

She turned around on him, nearly bowling him over. Hermione pointed over her shoulder at the multiple doors, standing ajar, with multiple reporters standing outside. "Do you really want to go through that? They will have a field day with us. I can only imagine all the clever titles they will come up for us."

Remus groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. This was a very long day. "True. Excellent point. 'Werewolf Robs Harry Potter of Old Flame.'"

"That'd be a mild one," said Hermione darkly. "They'll want to make this whole event as sensational as possible."

"So, what's the plan? I haven't been in this department enough to know the in's and out's. No sane werewolf would have ever voluntarily shown their face in here. Might as well write a letter to the Prophet proclaiming your lycanthropy. Does this connect to your department?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure." Remus knew Hermione hated to admit her utter lack of knowledge on a subject. She let go of his hand to wring hers as her eyes darted around the emptying lobby. They would be spotted soon. Then, she pointed to a plain door off to the side. It did not have a person's name or a sub-department title on it. "Maybe that's something."

He jiggled the door handle for a moment and nothing happened. Hermione withdrew her wand from her cloak and whispered, "_Alohomora._"

A shrill alarm erupted around them. Remus pressed his hands to his ears briefly as his amplified hearing took a moment to adjust. Soon, he recovered and steered a shocked Hermione, who was trying to silence the siren, toward the front doors. They'd have to forget trying to get out quietly. Several Ministry officials were rising up from their desks and looking in their general direction. "Run," he said into her ear. He grabbed her hand and started through the thinning crowed; people moved away from the sound, plugging their fingers in their ears. Hermione shoved through the group, brandishing her wand when necessary, while her left hand stayed locked in Remus' grasp.

Briefly, the reporters were confounded by the alarm going off, but they soon zeroed in on the couple making their way through the doors. A few licked the tip of their quills in anticipation, while others flipped to a new page of parchment. The other werewolves that had been cornered for interviews looked immensely relieved to be let go. Remus could not say that he felt the same. He didn't want Hermione to have to go through anymore. She had already risked enough coming down here to save him.

As a few closed in, Remus muscled his way around them. "Move. Get out of the way or you will regret it," he said.

"Is that the man or the beast talking? You sound agitated. How are you feeling? Do you wish to comment?"

"How dare you – " started Hermione; her eyes flashed at that Daily Prophet reporter. But Remus cut her off. He pushed the recorders out of his face. "We have no comment. So move along, move out of the way."

"Are you married? Is that why you are here? How does Harry Potter feel about this?"

"None of your business," said Hermione in a shrill voice.

"What aren't you telling us? Are you married? Is it love?"

Flash bulbs went off around them. Several photographers swarmed them, abandoning the meager stream of werewolves and other creatures leaving the department. Remus raised his arm to block his face and keep the flash bulbs from blinding him. He pulled Hermione closer to him, causing her to be flush with his side. He didn't care how it looked or how they would write about it tomorrow. She deserved to be protected. With his arm around her shoulder, Remus kept her face turned away from them and ushered her into an empty lift.

None were able to follow into their elevator as Hermione cast a quick _Protego _bubble to keep them out. Remus was impressed she had not hexed someone sooner. She gripped her wand so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. She seemed to be having trouble breathing.

"Are you all right? Did something happen? Did they do something to you?" Remus asked. He ducked his head a little to get a better look at her face. As a nervous habit, she smoothed down her hair and took a deep breath.

"Sometimes crowds make me uneasy." She looked up at him. "Sometimes it feels like I'm being suffocated." Hermione took another deep breath, but still gripped her wand. "I nearly hexed them all. I was nearly ready to unleash Fiendfyre, if that meant it would stop."

Remus rubbed her shoulders, moving gently over the cloak fabric. "But you didn't. You kept a level head and maintained your composure. That's what counts. Now, we are going to walk out of this lift, to the Floo Network, and not look back. Okay?"

She nodded. "Okay." Taking another deep breath, she started, "I'm sorry. I'd thought I'd gotten better at handling this. If I'd – "

"You don't need to apologize. You've done nothing wrong. It is on them and their actions. You should never apologize for how you feel."

At his words, the lift stopped and dinged open to the main Ministry floor. Hermione did not immediately get out, but stared at him for a moment, as if considering him for the first time. He quirked an eyebrow at her and motioned toward the door for her to get out before him. She gave him a shaky smile and stepped into a nearly vacant lobby; Hermione made her way toward the nearest fireplace. The green fire cast a peculiar glow on the surrounding black and white tile.

Remus heard the footsteps first, one of the few perks of being a werewolf. "Go, get in," he urged her. "I think they've caught up to us."

He ducked into an open fireplace, being careful to not bump his head on the marble mantle. A tall, lean reporter rounded the corner with a quill and scroll of parchment bumping along behind him. He was moving surprisingly fast, running at nearly a sprint to catch up with them. Hermione reached out for Remus' hand, just as the man reached out for the tail of her cloak.

"Hermione!" yelled Remus. She whirled around as the green flames engulfed her with the reporter still attached to her. Hermione blasted him backwards as the Floo drew them into the network. She grabbed roughly onto Remus and he felt her start to Apparate. They were out of the protection of the Ministry; she could take them wherever she thought of. Slowly, being pulled by the Floo and Hermione's Apparation, they turned out of sight. Remus let his mind go blank, allowing Hermione to be in control. He had barely seen the reporter follow them in the Floo and watched her successfully hex him. They had gotten away. But Remus felt her tense immediately as the figure behind her set foot in the green flames that promised to whisk them all away.

As their feet slammed into solid ground, he remembered how she spoke about their previous hasty retreat from the Ministry after stealing Voldemort's amulet. How they were being chased by Yaxley and he grabbed her just as they were leaving , how Ron was splinched, how she thought she had killed him. Thank Merlin, she was brilliant enough to be caring essence of dittany with her. Hastily, Remus ran a hand over his extremities and found them to be intact. Then he whipped around looking to see where Hermione had landed. They had become disentangled during the last moments of Apparation, which was surprising considering how firmly she had grasped onto him in the Floo Network.

He found her laid flat out on her back. Her hair fanned out wildly around her head, and her red dress rode up her thighs, but she didn't seem to mind or notice either. She seemed enraptured with the clear blue sky above her that was becoming tinged with navy and purple. At the sight of him, Hermione hastily got to her knees, brushing off the bits of grass and dirt that clung to her.

"Are you all right?" asked Remus, as he held out a hand to help her up. "Are you injured? Does everything feel okay?"

Now standing, Hermione took off her cloak and shook it; bits of debris fell off. "I haven't been splinched. Although, I could have landed a bit more gracefully."

"Where are we?" Remus asked, looking around at the trees towering over them. The leaves were turning red and gold; a few fluttered down around them.

"This is the Forest of Dean. We're near Gloucester. It seems to be the only place I can think of when I need to Apparate on the spot." She leaned against a large oak tree. "We came here while hunting Horcruxes. Harry and Ron were practically useless when it came to thinking of safe places to hide. So, we came here a few times."

He peered at her face; she wasn't meeting his gaze. "Are you truly all right, Hermione?"

"I shouldn't have brought us here. I overreacted. When I felt the tug on my cloak, I knew we needed to get away, so I came to the first place that came to mind." She puffed out a breath, ruffling the hair that lay across her face.

"Well, the Ministry of Magic doesn't necessarily hold the best memories for us, does it?"

Hermione shook her head. "I barely made it to work the first week. They had a hard time removing that awful fountain with all the Muggles at the base. I kept expecting to see Death Eaters at every turn. All I could see was Yaxley's face again…" She stared off for a moment before motioning for him to follow her. "There's a lake nearby."

He fell in step with her as they loudly crunched through the brown fallen leaves. The air felt chillier as the sun began to set. Remus could see a glint of water in the distance. Hermione pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders and kept her expression neutral. Remus noticed how pained she looked as she mentioned coming to this forest with Harry and Ron. He had heard a briefly about their Horcrux hunt and could only imagine how difficult it must have been. It was obvious the boys had leaned heavily upon Hermione to get them through. They had both been fighting the war, just in different ways.

The brightest color around them was Hermione's crimson dress. He finally broke the silence. "I'm sure this isn't how you imagined getting married."

"Oh," she said softly. "I never had any sort of dreams about getting married."

"Never? You and Ron never discussed?"

"You may find it hard to believe that a girl couldn't care less about having a wedding. Sure, we talked about it a time or two, but never seriously. It was the war; we were always running. Running to find Horcruxes. Running from snatchers. Getting married was never a top priority." The ground slopped down slightly. A slight breeze ruffled the otherwise still lake water. It lapped languidly at the shore. The waxing moon emerged from behind the tree line. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself. "And you?" she asked, glancing over at Remus. She paused, rethinking her words. "If you don't want to – you don't have to. I don't mean to pry."

Remus felt his mouth go a bit dry. The moon stared back at him. "Silver and pink." He grimaced at the color combination. "That's what she wanted. She wanted our wedding colors to be representative of us. Silver." He pointed to himself. "And she was the pink. I agreed only because she liked the idea so much. She'd show me things from magazines and I agreed. She very much had an ideal wedding in mind."

"Why didn't you ever go through with it?" Hermione asked.

"I think we have something in common. The war kept getting in the way. Somehow we could never set a date; we could never agree on when a good time would be to have it. So, we just never did. We soon forgot about it."

Hermione leaned closer to him, slipping her arm through his, locking them together. She slowly let her head rest against his shoulder. "If you could go back, would you? And change everything?"

Slightly shocked at her questions, Remus said, "That would be complicated. What if one thing kept Harry from winning, kept Voldemort from being defeated –"

Her voice was quiet; luckily, he could make out what she said over the rustling leaves and lapping lake water. "But would you?"

"Yes," Remus said.

"Me, too. I would die to keep them all safe."

"Hermione-"

"Oh, don't 'Hermione' or 'Miss Granger' me. You'd do the very same. It's been two years, but sometimes it feels like nothing." Her voice thickened and she had to clear her throat. "I shouldn't have brought us here." Roughly, she disentangled her arm from his and turned away from the lake. She rubbed her eyes and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. Apparating only made it more unruly.

"I'm sorry," said Remus. "You've already done so much and now this last thing, having to marry me, just to keep the Ministry happy. You didn't have to-"

"Of course, I did." She wiped at the moisture forming at the corners of her eyes. "You're safe now. I've saved you. I couldn't very well lose you, too."

Hermione Granger: his savior in a red dress with wild, untamable hair. "Thank you," he said.


	6. Because No One Is Gonna Save Us

theDarkIsRising

The Night Will Go As Follows

6. BECAUSE NO ONE IS GONNA SAVE US

Remus spent his wedding night on the couch in Hermione's flat. She offered to let him sleep in her bed, but he repeatedly declined. Looking flustered (he doubted too many people had the patience to withstand her persistence), Hermione went into her bedroom, presumably to change into her nightclothes. She soon returned with some flannel pajama pants and an old t-shirt with a lion emblazoned on it. He thought he could just make out a 'W' stamped on the lion's chest.

"Here. If you're going to be difficult, at least take these." She pressed the bundle into his hand. "You know in case you'd like to be more comfortable. It's all I have, in the way of men's clothing, really. I'll just go back in here, so you can change."

She regarded him a moment as if she was going to say something else then spun on her heels and left. Making sure her door was closed, Remus took off his robe then his own t-shirt and trousers. The pajama pants were a bit baggy around his waist; he hated to look at how truly thin he'd become. They also showed quite a bit of his ankle. The shirt fit better, though it seemed a bit tight on his shoulders. He tried not to think about who the original owner of these clothes was. Neatly, he folded his clothes and looked the couch over. It was leather and seemed comfortable enough. Probably more so than the bed in his flat.

"Are you dressed?" Hermione asked through her bedroom door.

"Yes."

Hesitantly, she emerged. Her outfit was similar to his as she wore a Chudley Cannons t-shirt that nearly reached past her shorts. Remus knew he should have just gone home to the safety and stale air of his flat. However, they had been in the middle of the forest, it had been late, and Hermione had insisted.

He knew he should spend his wedding night with his wife and Remus was completely flummoxed by such a thought. A wedding. A wife. A wedding night with his wife. All phrases beyond his current comprehension. Briefly, he wondered if she expected anything from him, from their situation. But Hermione swept past him into her kitchen to set the kettle on the stove. Of course, she wouldn't use magic to boil tea, he thought amused.

Soon, she came back with two steaming mugs. "You take milk only, right?" she said. She carefully handed one to Remus before sitting on the couch and motioning for him to join her.

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"Oh, you know, Molly would have me help get things ready for whenever the Order came over. Especially since Dumbledore wouldn't let us join." Her thumb traced the curve of the mug's handle. "Honestly, I was trying to spy on the meetings and hear what you were talking about."

"Always eager. Nothing happening that you didn't find out about soon enough. Many of us thought that you should be included. No point in acting like you wouldn't be affected."

"Yes, we'd all be included soon enough." She set her mug down and pulled her legs beneath her. They bumped against his knee. "So, we're married."

Remus believed that was the first time either of them had spoken the truth aloud. He felt his stomach turn in an odd way and set his tea on the side table. "Yes."

"Don't look like that. Now, that was the easy part."

"Easy part? I have now magically bound a very young witch to me in marriage because the government says so or else they'll punish me. Undoubtedly, the easiest part."

Hermione crossed her arms. "A simple 'thank you' would suffice. Luckily, I bullied my way into the Ministry or else you'd be sitting on a Muggle street corner. Or in a cell in Azkaban if that's what they really wanted."

"Maybe that is what I really wanted. Maybe it's what I deserve." Remus placed his face in his hands, burying his fingers into his hair. He should have walked away from them all long ago.

"If that's what you wanted, then I think you'd have found a way to tell me 'no.' I know I am quite scary with a wand, but so are you." She put a hand on his knee; he could feel the warmth through the pajamas. She attempted to lean over and catch his eye. "And you deserve none of that. You are a wonderful man, Remus, who never asked for any of this."

He turned his head toward her. "Neither did you."

"None of us have asked for what has happened. But we can accept it. That's about all we can do now, isn't it? I knew that I would marry you as soon as that announcement came. I didn't fully realize it until later, when I knew the Ministry would not budge on it, but I knew that you were worth it. It was just a matter of convincing you."

"As you've said, you are quite convincing with a wand."

Hermione playfully scoffed at him. "And here I thought it was my good looks and charm that won you over."

Remus went still and watched as her smirk faltered on her face. He did not have a reply, because to be honest, he did not know what overriding factor caused him to agree to marry her. They'd had moments of closeness after the war, moments of support. Their promises to each other, those had hit him the hardest as he stood in front of that magistrate, making his unbearable decision. They should take care of themselves and each other. She looked at him with pleading eyes and said that one word – "promise."

Then there was the threat of banishment or even imprisonment. And a pretty, young witch with curly hair in a red dress who insisted upon their union and had her hand balled into his cloak and her wand pressing into his side. Had she even needed that wand?

She pulled away from him and picked up her tea once more, taking sips from it to avoid looking at him. She hugged her chest with her free arm.

"Listen, Hermione – "

"Like I was saying," she cut him off, "that was the easier part, I suppose. Now, you need to find a job and we need to make sure the Ministry knows that. You'll have a truncated time frame, so we'll have to act fast."

"A provision of the law was that they could no longer discriminate against werewolves in the workplace. I think I can find something."

"Perhaps. But there's also all those other werewolves seeking jobs. Maybe, we should ask Professor McGonagall?" The tension from earlier eased from her face and she smiled at her suggestion.

"I don't think there are any positions open at Hogwarts."

"You've said before how much you loved teaching. I think the person at the Defense Against the Dark Arts post is only temporary."

"But, Hermione, you work in London. You live in London."

"Yes, so?" She looked at him confused.

"Hogwarts is in the north, all the way in Scotland. I'd be living in the castle. Would you be staying in London? Shouldn't we be living together?" He had not thought about such a prospect until they had Apparated into Hermione's flat. Then, he'd remembered that typically married people live together and this was how their relationship was going to be from now on.

"You're right. I hadn't considered that. The Ministry will probably frown on us having two separate addresses. No matter what position you get, we can work it out. I can always commute in."

"What do you want to do in the meantime?"

She brightened momentarily. "You can stay here with me. If you'd like. We can move your things over. Shrink what is too big to fit."

"That's very kind of you, but I wouldn't want to impose on your private space. Should we think of somewhere bigger? You've got a one-bedroom. Mine is even smaller."

"We'd need it available now. I'm sure the Ministry will want us to file the rest of our personal details soon."

Remus thought for a moment, then said, "Doesn't Harry still have the deed for Grimmauld?"

"You seriously want to move into Grimmauld? After everything, you want to step back in there?" She looked utterly shocked and somewhat disgusted at such a prospect.

"It's large. It's vacant. And very much available."

"Well, of course, it's available. Might as well be a bloody haunted house. I think we should stay here until we get everything sorted out."

"We can do that. But I'm afraid after all that, Grimmauld will be the most sensible option."

She was muttering under her breath. "Yes, of course, sensible options: sensible Hermione, sensible Grimmauld."

Regretting his previous silence and his current choice of words, Remus tried to explain. He didn't want her believing what she suggested. "Hermione, please, I think you're taking this the wrong way."

She untucked her legs and stood up. "I rather think that we are squared away at the moment. I've left you some blankets and a pillow for tonight. I'll leave out for work around seven o'clock. I'll try not to disturb you."

"Hermione," he said.

She spun around. Some of the frustration melted from her face when she looked at him, then she just looked tired. It was late. He walked over to her. Her hand rested on her bedroom doorknob as if ready for a hasty retreat. "You should know that I never considered anyone else." Without thinking, he pulled her head closer and planted a kiss on her head. Her hair smelled faintly sweet. When he released her, he said, "Good night."

"Good night," she breathed back and then promptly disappeared behind the door.

Hours later, Remus finally quieted his thoughts – somewhat. The couch was comfortable, but that did not help him rest. He then began to catalogue what was in Hermione's flat: 278 books (that he could see), three lamps, sixty ceiling tiles, four small rugs. She kept _Hogwarts: A History_ on the coffee table. A small tea ring stained the wood next to it.

Mostly, he lay there and listened. Being a werewolf meant he could hear every toss and turn Hermione made. He could make out mumbles as well. Once, he was certain that she called his name. Quietly, he got up and made his way to her door. He pressed his ear to the wood. She stilled and all he could hear was her deep even breathing. Remus thought about how they'd manage bedrooms and sleeping once they properly had their own place. He wondered why she called his name.

Hermione awoke with a start. Grabbing her alarm clock, she saw that it was only 5:30 in the morning. Only 5:30 meant she hadn't overslept and been late for work. However, a sense of panic still overtook her. Hermione rubbed her temples, trying to remember. A dream – she'd had a dream or rather a nightmare. That was the panic, but the details were fuzzing.

It was the Battle of Hogwarts; everyone was running past her. Except for one figure. Remus dueled with Dolohov. He kept dodging the Death Eater's curses; green light kept illuminating Remus' face. She tried to run to him, to help him, but she couldn't. All that Hermione could remember doing was standing and staring and saying his name.

Grabbing her wand, Hermione violently turned her bedroom lights on. She retreated into her bathroom and turned on the shower. She rubbed her hands over her arms. Dreams of the Battle never left her. She'd go a week or two, but then flashes of it would come back. Sometimes, she relived Horcrux hunting or that night in Malfoy Manor. Hermione traced the 'mudblood' scar on her forearm. Sometimes, she dreamt of the funerals. As usual, she tried to compartmentalize those images, breathing deep, telling herself it was in the past, nothing to be done about it. Stepping into the shower, she stood in the warm spray and repeated to herself: but he is alive, he is alive, he is alive.

Slipping out her bedroom door, Hermione quietly padded across her living room. Remus lay askew on the couch, one leg and one arm hanging off. He didn't stir when she came up next to him. She frowned at how skinny he looked. The blanket had fallen off sometime in the night. Hermione retrieved it from the floor and placed it back over him, tucking the loose ends in around his calves and arms. He shifted in his sleep, but did not wake up. Hermione thought his face looked more relaxed as opposed to his usual tense and guarded self. He looked years younger. A thick curtain of light brown hair covered his eye and fell across his check. She pushed it back a bit, so she could see more of his face. Scared she'd awaken him, she moved into the kitchen to start tea and toast.

Remus slept heavily until the sound of footsteps stirred him. He felt her gently rearrange his blanket, but was most surprised by the light sweep of her hand across his face. His hair tickled his cheek as she moved it aside. But she didn't stay long. Soon, the floorboards creaked and he could hear her filling the kettle with water again. He lay there feigning sleep until he felt her hand on his shoulder.

"Remus? Remus?" she whispered.

He cleared his throat and opened his eyes. Her hair was still damp from the shower and she wore a burgundy bathrobe. "Yes," he croaked. "I'm up."

"I just wanted to say there's some breakfast in the kitchen if you're hungry. You can have whatever you like. Or there's also a café down the street. I'll be going in a few." She paused, starting to rise from her crouched position. "I didn't want to pop out without at least saying 'good morning.'"

"Good morning," he murmured back. "What time is it?" He strained his head to look out the window. He couldn't see any light.

"Over a quarter past six, I think."

"Too early is what it sounds like. You'll be gone by seven? When will you be off?" He sat up on the couch, arching his back and turning his head from side to side.

"By four, I think. I'll try to get out sooner if they'll let me. I can probably work through lunch."

She moved back toward her bedroom, a piece of buttered toast in her hand. Rubbing his hands over his face, he felt a particularly large scar that ran across his left cheek. Self-consciously, he hoped she hadn't touched it earlier when she'd checked on him. Hermione had not run from him. Yet.

He grabbed a mug of tea and some toast and jam that were sitting out. He could hear more water running. Then, in a flurry, she reemerged with her hair freshly dried; she ran her fingers through it hurriedly. Her plain black robes fluttered open as she moved, revealing a pencil skirt and plain white shirt. She pulled a pair of short heels from a closet by her front door. With her shoes on, she fussed with her skirt and looked up at him, still on the couch.

"The post should be here at any moment. I get the _Prophet_. It'll have some job listings, I'm sure. Maybe something will turn up." She smiled. "There's still Hogwarts. I'll see when you need that turned in and whatever else they want."

However, Remus did not return her smile; his mind was on what happened to them yesterday at the Ministry. "I'm sure the _Prophet _will have plenty to say today."

Hermione blanched at his words. "Do you think they'd do that? Really? Do you think they'd capitalize –"

"Of course, they would. Look what they did to Harry, to Dumbledore. It's just a question of whether or not we've made the front page."

An owl pecked at Hermione's window; she startled at it. But it held a letter instead of the thick _Prophet _scroll. Confetti emerged from the envelope and it loudly squawked "Congratulations" in a thick Cockney accent. "For Merlin's sake," Remus heard Hermione mutter under her breath.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Just people who think they are rather funny."

"What's the matter?"

She squinted down at the paper before hastily shoving it back into the envelope. "It's nothing. Honestly," she said at his incredulous face. "I've got to go. Will you be all right? Everything is easy enough to find."

"I think I'll manage," he replied. She looked very officious in her work clothes, older and quite serious. He imagined her leading an entire boardroom of wizards with that no-nonsense tone she often took with others. Hermione called "goodbye" as she left.

Within five minutes of her departure, a small black owl swooped through the half-open window. Its flight was labored as it struggled to hold up the newspaper it carried. Feeling a sense of dread sink into his stomach, Remus detached the scroll. He remembered how he longed for and dreaded the paper during the war, how he knew those rumors of death would become suddenly real. Eventually, he stopped listening to the Wireless, stopped reading. It became too much waiting to hear Harry or Hermione or another Order member listed among the dead.

Unfolding the _Prophet_, he breathed a small sigh of relief to see they weren't above the fold. However, he recognized a bushy head as it tried to duck away from a photograph. Her scowling face kept turning into his side as he wrapped an arm around her. His face was livid; he oscillated between shouting at the reporters and trying to shove them out of the way with his free hand. The actions from yesterday looped in perpetual motion. Their picture took up nearly half of the bottom of the page. Remus hoped Hermione kept liquor somewhere in her cupboards.

Whispers surrounded Hermione she stepped onto the third floor of the Ministry and followed her into the Muggle Liaison Office. Her coworkers watched her move across the large open workspace, bypassing the mass of cubicles. She started to unlock her office door when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

Turning around, she came face to face with her boss, Mr. Pemblebrook. "May I see you in my office?"

Pemblebrook asked her to his office all the time: to discuss old policy, new policy, and Muggle reactions to both. However, she'd never heard an edge in his voice until today. His grey mustached twitched as she mumbled, "Sure." She quit struggling with her key and shoved it back into her bag. The whispers followed her as she walked toward his office.

After she was seated and he'd shut the door, he sat across from her behind a large mahogany desk and straightened his blue tie with a Ravenclaw house pin. "Do you have anything to discuss with me?"

"I'm not sure what you mean, sir," replied Hermione, fiddling with the strap of her work bag.

He shuffled some papers on his desk and came up with the thick pages of the _Daily Prophet_. "This," he said and pointed to the bottom of the front page.

The headline, in a bold script, said "Lechery and Lycanthropy" with a smaller subheading, "Hasty Wedding at the Ministry: Is it Love, Is it Lust, Is it Lawful? By Nedd Sawtooth." Static filled Hermione's brain, a wrathful white noise that blocked out the chatter from the cubicles and whatever else Pemblebrook was saying now. She kept reading, despite her anger.

"While covering the most recent Werewolf Reform law, a certain celebrity couple, dare we say, emerged from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, just as the marriage deadline for werewolves expired. Harry Potter's only surviving best friend and former girlfriend, Hermione Granger, was locked in a tight embrace with Remus Lupin, previous Hogwarts Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and well-known werewolf. When asked about their presence at the Ministry, both declined to comment.

After speaking with anonymous sources within the Magical Creature Department, the _Prophet _has obtained documentation that Miss Granger wed Mr. Lupin minutes before the marriage deadline and before Mr. Lupin's wand was snapped. Harry Potter has not been available for comment, despite multiple owls.

Now the question becomes – was this a public affirmation of love? Or something more sinister? Mr. Lupin is nearly double the age of Miss Granger, and according to their close friends, never showed any interest…"

This time Pemblebrook tapped on the paper to get Hermione's attention. She snapped her head to look back at him. He sat back down in his chair.

"Have you heard a word I've said?" he asked, looking miffed at her.

"Sorry, sir, I hadn't seen this yet. I had no idea. They saw us leave, but I didn't think…" she trailed off.

She'd known the _Prophet _to be horrible, especially with Rita Skeeter at the helm, starting nasty rumors about Harry and herself during their Fourth Year. But the horrid assumptions that they dared allude to in their subheading – "Is it Love? Is it Lust? Is it Lawful?" were the worst she'd seen in a while. The very people who should be questioning the law itself were turning on the victims, the werewolves.

"I can see that from your expression." He steepled his fingers in front of his face. "Now, why didn't you inform us that you would be marrying a werewolf?"

"Excuse me?" said Hermione.

"Didn't you think it would be pertinent for us – me and the rest of the board – to know about such a marriage?"

Her eyebrows furrowed and her mouth gaped slightly. "I'm sorry, what? No, that didn't really cross my mind. It wasn't terribly planned out. Even so, I don't see what that has to do with us."

"Hermione, we work with Muggles. Day in and day out." His voice raised in volume. "What were you thinking? The Muggle Minister gets the _Prophet_ these days. Or did you forget that? He'll see this. He'll know."

"What does that have to do with anything? He got the _Prophet _right after the War. I don't think werewolf marriages will bother him that much."

"Do you think he'll want to speak with you – or let any of his staff speak with you? You know he's much more conservative than the last Muggle Minister. Do you think he'll keep trusting you?"

"Are you saying because I'm now married to a werewolf that makes me untrustworthy? That I'm somehow less capable of doing my job?" asked Hermione.

"I'm not, but I am saying that's how the Muggles will see you." Pemblebrook slammed his hand down on the desk. "After all the work we've done…"

"Isn't that the point? That we work toward a better understanding between the magical and Muggle community. They need to know they don't need to fear us." She picked up the paper and said, "They don't need to fear me or him. "

"That's what we want, but they won't come to that straight away. We've been making real progress. I can't risk being set back."

Hermione sat up straighter. "What are you saying?"

"I think you should take a few days off until we get this figured out. See if this is what you really want. We'll wait and see how the Muggle Minister takes the news."

"And what if he doesn't take it well?" Hermione asked.

"We'll tackle that troll when we come to it."

"You're serious? I can't believe this. After all we've discussed about harmony and peace and…"

"Which is still the end goal," he said, cutting her list short.

Holding her head high, Hermione stood up, reshouldering her heavy work bag, knowing she'd still need to finish all the paperwork inside. "I want paid time-off."

Pemblebrook started to argue, but Hermione said, "Paid time-off."

"Sure, that's fine. It won't cut into your sick leave."

"Good. I'll be going home to my _husband _then." Hermione said 'husband' as acidly as possible, drawing it out. She took great satisfaction in slamming the door so loud that it shut up everyone on the floor.

Remus sat at the kitchen table with a small glass and a dark green bottle in front of him. Most of the newspaper littered the floor around him. She could tell that the classified section had survived intact and was spread out in front of him.

"You're home?" he asked. He downed the remnants in his glass.

"Yeah." She peered closer at the bottle. "Are you drinking cooking sherry? That won't get you drunk." She pulled a bottle of Firewhiskey out of her bag. "But this will."

"What's going on?" he asked. "You're back early. Very early. With alcohol."

She sat her bag down and took off her robe. Then she bunched her hands in her shirt and untucked it. She tried to smile at him. She didn't want him to know; she didn't want her job troubles to further weigh him down. She probably should have thought of that before showing up before noon with a full bottle of whiskey.

"Guess you could say I'm working from home now," she said and started to open the bottle.

"Hermione, what's happened?" He took the bottle out of her hands and sat it down with a clank on the coffee table. He was alert, completely unaffected by the sherry, which was the only alcohol she'd keep in her house since her earlier breakdowns after the War.

"I take it you've seen the paper?" she asked quietly. Her eyes roved over the mess he had made.

"Yes," he growled. He ran a hand through his hair; his face seemed paler, his scars more pronounced. She'd never seen him turn so angry, so quickly. "I hope you didn't take anything it said to heart. I worried that you'd think me – something even more horrible than what I already am."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said. "They are completely ignorant, purposefully inflammatory, trying to pass off their gossip rag as a newspaper. Saying such things about you! I ought to march down to their office and hex that vile writer. They are right down the street; I've been to their offices."

Hermione's voice had risen in both pitch and speed as she spoke. Having been idly holding her wand, retrieving it from her cloak before taking it off, gold and red sparks flew from the tip. Remus loosed it from her grip. Her face felt hot and splotchy. She knew she must look a mess.

"As much I'd like for that to happen, and as much as I've thought the same, I don't think that'd help," he said. Instead of angry, he now seemed dejected. He looked quite pathetic wearing his ill-fitting pajamas at midday with mussed hair and a five o'clock shadow.

Placing her wand out of reach momentarily, he picked up the Firewhiskey and carried it into the kitchen, where he began taking down new glasses. "How'd you get off so early? With whiskey no less?"

She followed him, ignoring his question. Her feet crunched the sports and the business sections as she leaned against the sink, avoiding his gaze. "I don't think you honestly want to know."

"Hermione, tell me what happened." She remembered that voice as his serious, teacher tone. He'd used it in the Order when he still led missions.

"Really, it's nothing. My supervisor reads the _Prophet _as well."

Accepting a glass, she clinked the ice about, watching the amber liquid swirl around. She took a sip and felt heat flame in her chest. It'd been awhile since she'd allowed herself a drink.

His voice was tense. "Have you been fired?"

"No," she said quickly. "I'm on paid leave."

"Same thing," he snapped. "I bet I can guess the reason why. Only one thing has changed between yesterday and today. You should have never come. You should have left me there, instead of having this happen. It's your entire career."

She tipped her head back and finished off the whiskey; he hadn't touched his yet. Hermione pointed to the glass and motioned to his mouth.

"Maybe my career was shoddy to begin with," she said. "Obviously, if this is it all it took for Pemblebrook to suspend me, saying the Muggles can't handle it. For Merlin's sake, the Muggle Minister has met centaurs and…and Hagrid."

"Neither of which try to eat people, magical and Muggle, once a month. I can understand his worry that Muggles would be scared to be associated with werewolves or other such creatures. We're dangerous."

"We have the Wolfsbane potion. We've come so far and now everything seems to go backwards. You're not any more dangerous than me," said Hermione. "And if you don't drink that, I will drink it for you."

He drank his and poured them another round, which Hermione immediately swallowed in one go. Remus raised an eyebrow at her and at her prompting gave her more Firewhiskey.

"Did you know that I had such a crush on you in my Third Year?" asked Hermione. She giggled a little as she spoke. A flush crept up her neck and occasionally she'd fan herself as if suddenly warm.

Remus had matched her glass for glass, but his past two years of moderate to heavy drinking meant he still had most of wits about him. But never had he seen Hermione so inebriated. She hardly drank more than one or two glasses of wine when in public, whether at dinner or at parties. For him, the whiskey tasted a bit bitterer than usual, maybe a reminder of his last bender when he'd shut himself up in his flat, believing his life to be over.

"I had no clue," he said and grinned. That was a lie. He'd wondered; he sometimes caught thirteen-year-old Hermione gazing at him as if in a daydream.

"We all did." She slapped his arm and held out her empty glass.

"Are you sure?" he asked. He'd indulged her out of guilt; by marrying him, she'd effectively been laid off. She finally explained how her boss saw her and her connection to Remus as a liability. So he gave her more to drink.

They were sitting on the living room floor; none of the papers had been picked up. They'd pushed the coffee table to the side and sat cross-legged on the center rug with the bottle between them.

"You were the absolute best member of the Order. Did you know that? We missed you so, so much when you didn't go on anymore missions. You really were the best." She placed her hand on his forearm and leaned forward to look him in the eyes. "We really missed you."

"I know. And I knew that you needed me." He glanced away from her. He hadn't been able to face any missions after Dora had died. It felt so meaningless. Why care if they'd won if she hadn't survived.

"I's all right though. We all understood. The War was hard. It was hard on us all and sometimes you just have to stop." Her grip on his arm tightened as she tried to steady herself. He grabbed ahold of her elbow to keep her seated.

"My weakness. But you never did stop, did you? Always ticking along. Always working."

She waved her hand at him. "Or else I'd go insane. You picked this up." She nudged the bottle. She looked worried. "Which is completely understandable. I did a few times, and then I started working and never stopped, because once you stop, you remember and then you feel like you can never move forward. It just keeps coming back."

"It always comes back." He could see tears in her eyes. "But you've done so well. You've done so many important things."

Hermione used her shirt sleeve to wipe underneath her eyes. She still wore her button-down work shirt and sat awkwardly in her pencil skirt. "Yeah, it looks like I have."

"What do you mean looks like? You have. You are without a doubt the brightest witch of your age."

That caused her to grin weakly at him. "You were the first person to call me that."

"In the Shrieking Shack, during your Third Year, when you so ungraciously exposed me," Remus said. He remembered her accusations, how he'd been floored by how eviscerated he felt by her self-assured statement and pointing finger.

"It's not my fault those two were complete idiots. I watched you so closely that year; I just had to know for sure." She leaned in close to him again; a wily smile spreading across her face. "I'll have you know that did not dampen my affection."

"No?" he said faintly. He was very aware of her warm breath on his cheek as she made to whisper into his ear. No one had been this close to him in the past two years. Before Dora, no one had ever been this close to him.

"No," she intoned softly.

The proximity to his ear and the way she said that one word sent a shiver down his spine. Her hand rested on his shoulder as she steadied her wobbly form, so she did not simply fall forward on him. She wavered as she pulled away, so he placed a hand against her side. Hermione leaned into his touch, and her eyes became hooded. Remus felt alarms going off inside him. She was very drunk; undoubtedly she wouldn't remember past her fourth glass of Firewhiskey. She'd just married an old werewolf and lost her job within a span of twenty-four hours. She deserved to be drunk, but not taken advantage of.

And now, she placed her glass on the floor next to his. Her hand went back to the cheek that she'd brushed earlier that morning. She traced the scar Remus had hoped in vain she had not touched when she paused over his presumably sleeping form. His first instinct was to flinch away, but he held still. Her eyes widened when she noticed him intently looking at her.

"Why, Remus?" she asked.

"Why, what?"

"Why me? Why did you let me marry you? You said 'no' so many times. You said 'no' in your flat; you said 'no' when I came back later; you said 'no' in the Ministry. Then you said 'yes.' Why?"

"I think you know why."

He couldn't say anymore and she looked expectant. He knew why and so did she, but neither of them would say it. Maybe they would both forgot this in the morning and go back to their practical and sensible arrangement, where she served as his steadfast anchor to the wizarding world. They would return to making job and living decisions, devoid of emotion and liquor and this strange, unnerving truth that had sprung between them.

"Yes," she mumbled. "I almost told you. I did. I was so close, but I didn't. Clever people don't go about blurting such things out. I knew better."

Her words were slurring together and it was hard for him to make out what she was saying. Hermione pushed onto her knees, moving her hand to his neck, bracing against him so she could balance properly on her calves as she reclined on them.

In a thoughtful voice, she said, "You are beautiful when you sleep."

With his hand still on her waist as if preparing for a waltz, she moved her fingers to the base of his hairline. It had gotten longer; he couldn't remember when he last had it trimmed properly. Her nails lightly scraped his scalp and that shiver ran down his spine again. The alarms were back; 'she's drunk,' they yelled at him, 'would she do this otherwise?'

She tilted her head toward him and pulled Remus forward. He started to bring up his other hand to stop her before she did something that she would regret tomorrow when she woke up with a splitting headache, a hangover, and the taste of guilt in her mouth.

However, just before she pressed her lips to his, and just before he pushed her away, Hermione instead kissed that scar, that long raised scar that ran the length of his left cheek. She kissed it as if her touch would cauterize the invisible pain harbored within each mark on his body. It left Remus breathless with its intimacy.

Hermione shifted backward, her eyes oddly clear. "Please know that you are worth it. You were always worth it."

**AN**-

Ah, drunk!Hermione is my favorite; all those emotions that bubble to the surface when inhibitions are gone.

I aimed for a longer chapter and got it. Thanks for all the favorites and follows! Please review, too. Is everybody in character? How am I doing with the "Marriage Law" trope? Plus, reviews encourage me to write this instead of grading, which is good for everyone (except my students…). Shout out to Errow for being such a faithful reviewer.

Also, has anyone noticed a common thread in the chapter titles? Hmmm…


	7. Washed My Hands of That

The Night Will Go As Follows

theDarkIsRising

7. WASHED MY HANDS OF THAT

* * *

Remus awoke at 1:05 AM; his mouth was dry and his head ached. Blearily, he looked at the Muggle alarm again, confused by the time. He was also confused as to how he got where he was at the moment. Currently, he was curled in Hermione's bed with Hermione still in it. He rolled over to face her. She breathed softly and her hand lay on the pillow next to his face. Briefly, he wondered if her hand had been touching him. Remus carefully traced down her index finger, trying to recall yesterday.

He remembered leading a barely coherent Hermione to her bedroom. She'd nearly fallen over backwards after kissing his cheek; she no longer possessed the coordination to raise herself back up. So, Remus lifted her up. Much like at the Ministry, he tucked her underneath his arm and supported her weight. He managed to guide her to bed and into a proper sleeping position, which was difficult as she initially refused to let him cover her with a blanket. After that, it went a little dim. A hand on his wrist, her pulling him down, her rolling over to allow him some room on the mattress, her satisfied sigh as he laid down next to her.

Last night. He didn't know how much she would remember of it. If she would recall leaning into him, whispering into his ear, kissing him (albeit on the cheek). Absentmindedly, he touched his face. Maybe she would forget. Maybe that was for the best. She hadn't been herself. Remus reached up and pulled the blanket up to her shoulders. Hermione burrowed deeper into her pillow. Maybe she would be shocked to find him lying next to her. She'd been quite drunk. What were you thinking, he mentally asked her.

Fearing the answer to his unasked question, he shifted out of bed. It would probably be for the best if he left. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable. Her eyes, so hazy, had been unreadable – "you were always worth." What about him was worth saving? She touched him as if reaching for a drowned man. He'd stayed afloat all these years and for what. To yoke another person to his utter misfortune. To cause Hermione Granger to lose her high profile Ministry job and come home with Firewhiskey. To make her worry about him. To have someone touch him in such a way and have no idea how to respond.

Remus stood in the doorway, looking at her still form. He could easily climb back into that bed and wait for her to wake up. And then ask her. What did you mean? Last night. What are we doing?

Instead, he lay back down on the sofa and left those questions for the morning.

oOo

Neither of them brought it up. Hermione blushed slightly upon seeing him again, but she didn't breathe a word as to why. Remus waited for her to say something, anything; however, Hermione kept silent. So, they set about to what they did best – reading, studying, planning. Remus was tasked with actually looking at the want ads in the Daily Prophet. In a huff, Hermione pulled book after book from about her bookshelves. All of them dealt with Wizarding law. When Remus asked what she was doing, she explained she was researching termination rules within the Ministry.

"I highly doubt," she said, "they have any precedent to lay me off or phase me out simply because of marital status." Remus started to argue, but she quirked an eyebrow at him. "No matter whom I decide to marry."

Over the next few days, Hermione religiously poured over those books, taking notes and audibly sighing at points. Remus watched her finish the work from her work bag and send it back to the Ministry. Someone else will just do it wrong, she explained. Remus shifted through the magical and Muggle job postings. He found a few promising ones for some local Muggle shops.

"You know a magical job would be better," said Hermione.

"I doubt any of these would hire me."

"Have you asked? Have you owled them?"

"I'm fairly certain," he glanced down at the paper, "that Gringotts doesn't want a werewolf on staff."

"Have you asked McGonagall about coming in during the spring term?"

He smirked at her a bit. "Why should I when you've already done it?"

She colored a bit. "You shouldn't read other people's owls."

Remus noticed her hair getting more and more unmanageable as the days wore on. Lacking structure, Hermione seemed to be going a bit mad. And nothing in her books ever made her happy. She mostly sighed and muttered. She lamented often, aloud and more so to herself, that she needed the Hogwarts library to figure out her problem. Remus noticed that she licked her lips and bit at them as she wrote down something important. She'd pop the quill between her teeth when flicking quickly through pages. She got up occasionally to walk about or look over his shoulder or ask what he was reading or accept a bit of food from him that he'd managed to find in her icebox. He thought he felt the ghost of her fingertips touch along his shoulders as she surveyed which want ads he'd circled. She retreated to her bedroom alone each night, leaving him on the couch.

They moved around each other like small planets, never terribly close, but still within a set orbit. Occasionally, Remus popped out to his flat for his things: a shirt, a razor, shoes. He tried to bring up the subject of moving back there, at least until everything between them was squared away, but as usual, Hermione shut down that idea. He somewhat agreed, although he'd never tell her that. His flat was cold now and dark; it felt different. Remus could not image sitting at his kitchen counter alone any more. Despite such feelings, Hermione's flat was still small. To give her some space and to separate himself from the angry scratching of her quill, he wandered the nearby streets of London, looking for any 'help wanted' signs.

Much to Hermione's chagrin, he got part-time work in the butcher's department at a grocery store. He told her that he'd done much worse and besides with her unwavering faith in McGonagall, it would surely be temporary. Hermione immediately sent in proof of his employment to the Ministry. He'd only been employed a couple of evenings, and Hermione enjoyed being alone in the apartment, but she did miss hearing him shift in his chair as he read or seeing him emerge from the kitchen with his glasses perched on his nose. She didn't realize how quiet her apartment was.

It was nearly time for him to leave again when their relative quiet was broken by an influx of unknown owls that tried to swoop into the window and instead pecked mercilessly until let inside. Each carried a flaming red envelope.

"Oh, Merlin," muttered Hermione. She reflexively took a step back from the Howlers that were accumulating in her living room.

Looking livid, Remus tried to banish the lot of them before they ripped open and began to shriek. Hermione followed suit, waving her wand uselessly at them. Before long, they unsealed and unleashed a myriad of high-pitched yelling.

"HERMIONE GRANGER DESERVES BETTER…"

"YOU ARE DIRTY AND NEED TO BE…"

"HOW DARE YOU? HARRY POTTER LOVES…"

"WEREWOLVES SHOULD BE LOCKED AWAY…"

"YOU ARE AN OLD CODGER WHO PROBABLY CAN'T EVEN…"

"HOW WERE YOU EVER A TEACHER? SHE'S ONLY…"

They both covered their ears and waited for them to burst into flames. Once the ash had settled, silence pressed in on them. Remus banished the dusty piles until the living room looked untouched.

"I wish I knew who sent each and every one of those," said Hermione through clenched teeth.

"Ah," said Remus, distantly, "the beauty of Howlers. You don't have to sign your name."

"Still, that is the most vile and cowardly way to send anything." Hermione stomped over to the window and slammed it shut.

"Who sent the first letter?" He wasn't looking at her, but his voice was tense.

"Which letter? I don't know. It disintegrated," Hermione said.

"No, the first day after the ceremony. The day when you let were let go. You got some post and didn't talk about it."

"I don't know what you mean."

Remus closed the space between them. Hermione lifted her chin to meet his gaze. "Yes, you do. Now where is it?"

"I don't think you need to see it." He began riffling through the papers on the coffee table and then through the desk drawers. He pulled them open violently and left them hanging like gaping mouths. Hermione righted things in his wake. "Please, Remus, really it won't help anything."

He took a deep breath and stopped his frantic movements. "Just show me. I want to know."

"Fine," she conceded. "No one signed this one either."

Hermione reached underneath the couch cushion and pulled out the card, slightly bent from being sat on. Reluctantly, she handed it over and then sat down, facing away from Remus. She didn't feel like reliving that particular moment. The front innocuously read "Congrats" and, upon opening the card, a voice said the same ("Congratulations!") in a horrible Cockney accent.

But the inside – Remus instantly shut it. The sender or someone had taken the time to draw a lewd picture. A woman was bent over in a state of enrapture and behind her a man shifted between human and wolf form, his mouth open in a continuous howl. Remus dispatched this card in the same manner as a Howler, lighting it aflame until there was nothing left.

"Well, I asked for it," he said softly. His face was strangely calm, which left Hermione feeling more uneasy than when he was outright angry. "It's nearly five. I'd better be off for the late shift."

"Remus," started Hermione. He looked at her a moment, his white apron in his hand. "All of these people are completely stupid. It will get better."

"Forever the optimist. I've been at this far longer than you have. I know my place." He held up his pink-stained apron as proof and then left.

* * *

**AN: A bit of a short update, but that felt like the right place to end it. We are revving up for some more exciting things to come. I hope this hasn't been going too terribly slow. Thanks for all the favs and follows. Please review. Let me know Remione is still a ship people care about! (Been feeling very alone in the HG/RL boat as of late).**


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